UNiVL 


JRARY 

V,  SAN  DIEGO 


0. 


\el\fi 


BIROS  in  high  gales  or  storms  are  always 
interesting  objects.  It  is  very  rarely  that  the 
powerful  petrels  of  the  coast  succumb  to  the 
force  of  the  wind,  but  sometimes  their  flight 
Is  not  strong  enough  to  resist  the  hurricanes, 
and  taking  the  wind  on  the  side  they  fly  along 
with  it  at  a  rate  that  is  fairly  dazzling  to 
the  eyes.  The  termination  of  such  trips 
is  not  always  pleasing  to  the  birds.  They 
are  often  hurried  along  with  such  velocity 
that  they  cannot  recover  their  equilibrium, 
and  they  are  dashed  upon  some  land  and 
killed.  When  caught  In  a  high  gale  the  birds 
always  make  for  the  lee  side  of  some  point 
of  land  or  stationary  object.  The  difficult 
part  of  their  evolution  Is  to  bring  themselves 
up  on  the  lee  side  without  being  killed.  Some 
birds  rise  high  In  the  air,  and  make  a  sort  of 
double  under  curve,  and  generally  fall  with 
considerable  force.  The  more  powerful 
winged  species  curve  around  to  breast  the 
gale,  and  then  allow  themselves  to  drop 
gradually  while  facing  the  wind.  The  strug- 
gles of  a  powerful-winged  bird  in  a  gale  are 
fascinating  to  one  interested  In  aerial  navi- 
gation. If  caught  in  the  rushing  wind,  the 
birds  will  do  their  best  to  save  themselves 
from  getting  "lost."  Birds  do  get  lost  In  the 
wind-storms  as  well  as  in  the  rain  and  snow 
storms  of  dark  nights.  That  is,  the  wind 
blows  them  far  out  of  their  accustomed 
haunts.  Most  of  our  birds  are  local  in  their 
habitations.  They  fly  about  within  a  com- 
paratively narrow  range  of  territory,  and  If 
they  get  far  beyond  this  they  are  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes  lost.  Thus  seabirds  are 
sometimes  blown  for  many  miles  inland, 
where  they  feel  as  lonely  and  uncomfort- 
able as  the  land  birds  which  have  been  blown 
far  out  to  sea. 


WAKE-ROBIN 


BY 

JOHN   BURROUGHS 


Second  Edition,  corrected,  enlarged,  and  illustrated 


NEW    YORK 

PUBLISHED   BY  HURD   AND   HOUGHTON 
Clje  Htoerattie 
1877 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

JOHN  BURROUGHS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Copyright,  1876, 
By  JOHN  BURROUGHS. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge.  '. 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON    AND   rnwi-i. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE  TO  SECOND  EDITION. 


IN  issuing  a  second  and  revised  edition  of  Wake- 
Robin,  the  author  has  added  a  chapter  on  The  Blue- 
bird, and  otherwise  enlarged  and  corrected  the  text 
here  and  there.  The  illustrations  are  kindly  fur- 
nished by  Prof.  Baird,  and  are  taken  from  the  "  His- 
tory of  North  American  Birds,"  by  himself.  Dr. 
Brewer,  and  Mr.  Ridgeway,  and  published  by  Little, 
Brown,  &  Co.,  —  the  most  complete  work  on  our 
birds  that  has  yet  appeared.  The  hermit-thrush  rep- 
resented is  the  Western  hermit  (Turdus  usttilati's), 
and  we  have  been  obliged  to  substitute  the  black  fly- 
catcher (Saponit  nigricans)  for  the  pewee,  and  the 
house  finch  (Corpodacit*  frontalt's)  for  the  purple 
finch ;  but  the  difference  is  hardly  appreciable  in  an 
uncolored  engraving. 
Nmembtr,  1876. 


JOHN  BURROUGHS  lives  near  West  Park, 
N.  Y.,  and  a  picturesque  place  it  is,  with 
its  beautiful  verdant  hill-stretches  and 
the  white  of  the  country  roads.  He  has  a 
beautiful  residence  near  the  village, 
which  commands  a  fine  view  of  the  Hud- 
son and  resembles,  both  from  its  struc- 
ture and  its  location,  the  home  of  Wash- 
ington Irving.  His  famous  study  is  a 
small  detached  building  fronting  toward 
the  river,  where,  apart  from  the  world 
and  in  sight  of  all  these  charms  of  na- 
ture, the  larger  portion  of  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs's  books  were  written.  Despite  its 
roughness,  it  was  an  ideal  place  for  a 
genius.  With  his  own  hands  he  has  as- 
sisted in  the  rearing  of  this  quaint  re- 
treat, which  is  a  most  primitive,  un- 
painted,  cedar-framed  hut,  innocent  of 
window  shutters  without  or  within,  the 
ideal  of  a  Thoreau — and  a  Burroughs. 
It  is  situated  on  a  piece  of  territory 
which,  from  its  untamed  natural  beauty 
and  ruggedness,  Mr.  Burroughs  has  called 
his  Whitman  lands.  A  spot  unusually 
wild  and  stern  has  been  chosen  for  the 
cabin's  location.  Directly  facing  the 
porch  is  a  cliff  or  wall  of  solid  rock.  This 
frowning  rampart  must  present  a  deso- 
late outlook  when  winter  robs  of  their 
verdure  the  few  trees  upon  its  summit; 
but  Mr.  Burroughs  likes  it.  He  says  he 
gains  repose  and  strength  from  those  un- 
yielding heights,  and  it  is  they  which 
have  suggested  the  unique  name  by  which 
his  place  is  known,  "Slab  Sides." 


PREFACE. 


THIS  is  mainly  a  book  about  the  Birds,  or  more 
properly  an  invitation  to  the  study  of  Ornithology, 
and  the  purpose  of  the  author  will  be  carried  out  in 
proportion  as  it  awakens  and  stimulates  the  interest 
of  the  reader  in  this  branch  of  Natural  History. 

Though  written  less  in  the  spirit  of  exact  science 
than  with  the  freedom  of  love  and  old  acquaintance, 
yet  I  have  in  no  instance  taken  liberties  with  facts,  or 
allowed  my  imagination  to  influence  me  to  the  extent 
of  giving  a  false  impression  or  a  wrong  coloring.  I 
have  reaped  my  harvest  more  in  the  woods  than  in 
the  study ;  what  I  offer,  in  fact,  is  a  careful  and  con- 
scientious record  of  actual  observations  and  experi- 
ences, and  is  true  as  it  stands  written,  evtery  word  of 
it.  But  what  has  interested  me  most  in  Ornithology, 
is  the  pursuit,  the  chase,  the  discovery  ;  that  part  of 
it  which  is  akin  to  hunting,  fishing,  and  wild  sports, 
and  which  I  could  carry  with  me  in  my  eye  and  ear, 
wherever  I  went. 


vi  PREFACE. 

I  cannot  answer  with  much  confidence  the  poet's 
inquiry, 

"  Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun  ?  " 

but  I  have  done  what  I  could  to  bring  home  the 
"  earth  and  the  sky  "  with  the  sparrow  I  heard  '-sing- 
ing at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough."  In  other  words, 
I  have  tried  to  present  a  live  bird,  —  a  bird  in  the 
woods  or  the  fields. —  with  the  atmosphere  and  asso- 
ciations of  the  place,  and  not  merely  a  stuffed  and 
labeled  specimen. 

A  more  specific  title  for  the  volume  would  have 
suited  me  better,  but  not  being  able  to  satisfy  myself 
in  this  direction,  I  cast  about  for  a  word  thoroughly 
in  the  atmosphere  and  spirit  of  the  book,  which  I 
hope  I  have  found  in  '•  Wake-Robin  "  —  the  common 
name  of  the  white  Trillium,  which  blooms  in  all  our 
woods,  and  which  marks  the  arrival  of  all  the  birds. 


CONTENTS. 


•Mi 

L  THE  RETURN  or  THE  BIRDS        ...  9 

II.  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS 47 

III.  ADIROXDAC 83 

IV.  BIRDS'-NKSTS 109 

V.  SPUING  AT  THE  CAPITAL     ....  145 

VI.  BIRCH  BHOWSINGS 177 

VII.  THE  BI.I  EBIUD 211 

VIII.  THB  IKVITATIOX                                                 .  225 


THE  RETURN   OF  THE  BIRDS. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

SPRING  in  our  northern  climate  may  fairly  be  said 
to  extend  from  the  middle  of  March  to  the  middle  of 
June.  At  least,  the  vernal  tide  continues  to  rise 
until  the  latter  date,  and  it  is  not  till  after  the  sum- 
mer solstice  that  the  shoots  and  twigs  begin  to  harden 
and  turn  to  wood,  or  the  grass  to  lose  any  of  its  fresh- 
ness and  succulency. 

It  is  this  period  that  marks  the  return  of  the  birds, 
—  one  or  two  of  the  more  hardy  or  half-domesticated 
species,  like  the  song-sparrow  and  the  bluebird,  n-u- 
ally  arriving  in  March,  while  the  rarer  and  more 
brilliant  wood-birds  bring  up  the  procession  in  June, 
But  each  stage  of  the  advancing  season  gives  prom- 
inence to  certain  species,  as  to  certain  flowers.  The 


12  THE  RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

dandelion  tells  me  when  to  look  for  the  swallow,  the 
dog-toothed  violet  when  to  expect  the  wood-thrush, 
and  when  I  have  found  the  wake-robin  in  bloom  I 
know  the  season  is  fairly  inaugurated.  With  me  this 
flower  is  associated,  not  merely  with  the  awakening 
of  Robin,  for  he  has  been  awake  some  weeks,  but 
with  the  universal  awakening  and  rehabilitation  of 
nature. 

Yet  the  coming  and  going  of  the  birds  is  more  or 
less  a  mystery  and  a  surprise.  We  go  out  in  the 
morning,  and  no  thrush  or  vireo  is  to  be  heard ;  we 
go  out  again,  and  every  tree  and  grove  is  musical ; 
yet  again,  and  all  is  silent.  Who  saw  them  come  ? 
Who  saw  them  depart  ? 

This  pert  little  winter-wren,  for  instance,  darting 
in  and  out  the  fence,  diving  under  the  rubbish  here 
and  coming  up  yards  away,  —  how  does  lie  manage 
with  those  little  circular  wings  to  compass  degrees 
and  zones,  and  arrive  always  in  the  nick  of  time? 
Last  August  I  saw  him  in  the  remotest  wilds  of  the 
Adirondacs,  impatient  and  inquisitive  as  usual ;  a  few 
weeks  later,  on  the  Potomac,  I  was  greeted  by  the 
same  hardy  little  busybody.  Does  he  travel  by  easy 
stages  from  bush  to  bush  and  from  wood  to  wood  ? 
or  has  that  compact  little  body  force  and  courage  to 
brave  the  night  and  the  upper  air,  and  so  achieve 
leagues  at  one  pull? 

And  yonder  bluebird  with  the  earth  tinge  on  his 
breast  and  the  sky  tinge  on  his  back,  —  did  he  come 
down  out  of  heaven  on  that  bright  March  morning 


THE   RETURN   OF    1  HE   B1KDS.  13 

when  he  told  us  so  softly  and  plaintively  that  if  we 
pleased,  spring  had  come  ?  Indeed,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  return  of  the  birds  more  curious  and  suggestive 
than  in  the  first  appearance,  or  minors  of  the  appear- 
ance, of  this  little  blue-coat  The  bird  at  first  seems 
a  mere  wandering  voice  in  the  air ;  one  hears  its  call 
or  carol  on  some  bright  March  morning,  but  is  un- 
certain of  its  source  or  direction  ;  it  falls  like  a  drop 
of  rain  when  no  cloud  is  visible ;  one  looks  and  list- 
ens, but  to  no  purpose.  The  weather  changes,  per- 
haps a  cold  snap  with  snow  comes  on,  and  it  may  be 
a  week  before  I  hear  the  note  again,  and  this  time  or 
the  next  perchance  see  the  bird  sitting  on  a  stake  in 
the  fence  lifting  his  wing  as  he  calls  cheerily  to  his 
mate.  Its  notes  now  become  daily  more  frequent ; 
the  birds  multiply,  and,  flitting  from  point  to  point, 
call  and  warble  more  confidently  and  gleefully. 
Their  boldness  increases  till  one  sees  them  hovering 
with  a  saucy,  inquiring  air  about  barns  and  out- 
buildings, peeping  into  dove-cotes,  and  stable  win- 
dows, inspecting  knot-holes  and  pump-trees,  intent 
only  on  a  place  to  nest.  They  wage  war  against 
robins  and  wrens,  pick  quarrels  with  swallows,  and 
seem  to  deliberate  for  days  over  the  policy  of  taking 
forcible  possession  of  one  of  the  mud-houses  of  the 
latter.  But  as  the  season  advances  they  drift  more 
into  the  background.  Schemes  of  conquest  which 
they  at  first  seemed  bent  upon  are  abandoned,  and 
they  settle  down  very  quietly  in  their  old  quarters  in 
remote  stumpy  fields. 


14  THE    RETURN    OF   THE   BIRDS. 

Not  long  after  the  bluebird  comes  the  robin,  some- 
times in  March,  but  in  most  of  the  Northern  States 
April  is  the  month  of  the  robin.  In  large  numbers 
they  scour  the  fields  and  groves.  You  hear  their 
piping  in  the  meadow,  in  the  pasture,  on  the  hill-side. 
Walk  in  the  woods,  and  the  dry  leaves  rustle  with 
the  whir  of  their  wings,  the  air  is  vocal  with  their 
cheery  call.  In  excess  of  joy  and  vivacity,  they  run, 
leap,  scream,  chase  each  other  through  the  air,  diving 
and  sweeping  among  the  trees  with  perilous  rapidity. 

In  that  free,  fascinating,  half-work  and  half-play 
pursuit,  —  sugar-making,  —  a  pursuit  which  still  lin- 
gers in  many  parts  of  New  York,  as  in  New  England, 
the  robin  is  one's  constant  companion.  When  the 
day  is  sunny  and  the  ground  bare,  you  meet  him  at 
all  points  and  hear  him  at  all  hours.  At  sunset,  on 
the  tops  of  the  tall  maples,  with  look  heavenward, 
and  in  a  spirit  of  utter  abandonment,  he  carols  his 
simple  strain.  And  sitting  thus  amid  the  stark,  si- 
lent trees,  above  the  wet,  cold  earth,  with  the  chill  of 
winter  still  in  the  air,  there  is  no  fitter  or  sweeter 
songster  in  the  whole  round  year.  It  is  in  keeping 
with  the  scene  and  the  occasion.  How  round  and 
genuine  the  notes  arc,  and  how  eagerly  our  ears 
drink  them  in  !  The  first  utterance,  and  the  spell  of 
winter  is  thoroughly  broken,  and  the  remembrance 
of  it  afar  off. 

Robin  is  one  of  the  most  native  and  democratic  of 
our  birds  ;  he  is  one  of  the  family,  and  seems  much 
nearer  to  us  than  those  rare,  exotic  visitants,  as  the 


THE   KK1I  KN    OF   THE   BIRDS.  l.'i 

orchard  starling  or  rose-breasted  grossbeak,  with 
their  distant,  high-bred  ways.  Hardy,  noisy,  frolic- 
some, neighborly  and  domestic  in  his  habits,  strong 
of  wing  and  bold  in  spirit,  he  is  the  pioneer  of  the 
thrush  family,  and  well  worthy  of  the  finer  artists 
whose  coming  he  heralds  and  in  a  measure  prepares 
us  for. 

I  could  wish  Robin  less  native  and  plebeian  in  one 
respect,  —  the  building  of  his  nest.  Its  coarse  mate- 
rial and  rough  masonry  are  creditable  neither  to  his 
skill  as  a  workman  nor  to  his  taste  as  an  artist.  I 
am  the  more  forcibly  reminded  of  his  deficiency  in 
this  respect  from  observing  yonder  humming-bird's 
nest,  which  is  a  marvel  of  fitness  and  adaptation,  a 
proper  setting  for  this  winged  gem,  —  the  body  of  it 
composed  of  a  white,  felt-like  substance,  probably  the 
down  of  some  plant  or  the  wool  of  some  worm,  and 
toned  down  in  keeping  with  the  branch  on  which  it 
sits  by  minute  tree-lichens,  woven  together  by  tint  ads 
as  fine  and  frail  as  gossamer.  From  Robin's  good 
looks  and  musical  turn  we  might  reasonably  prolict 
a  domicile  of  equal  fitness  and  elegance.  At  least  I 
demand  of  him  as  clean  and  handsome  a  nest  as  the 
king-bird's,  whose  harsh  jingle,  compared  with  Rob- 
in's evening  melody,  is  as  the  clatter  of  pots  and  ket- 
tles beside  the  tone  of  a  flute.  I  love  his  note  and 
!>etter  even  than  those  of  the  orchard  starling 
or  the  Baltimore  oriole ;  yet  his  nest,  compared  with 
theirs,  is  a  half-subterranean  hut  contrasted  with  a 
Roman  villa.  There  is  something  courtly  and  poet- 


16  THE  RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

ical  in  a  pensile  nest.  Next  to  a  castle  in  the  air  is  a 
dwelling  suspended  to  the  slender  branch  of  a  tall 
tree,  swayed  and  rocked  forever  by  the  wind.  Why 
need  wings  be  afraid  of  falling?  Why  build  only 
where  boys  can  climb  ?  After  all,  we  must  set  it 
down  to  the  account  of  Robin's  democratic  turn  ;  he 
is  no  aristocrat,  but  one  of  the  people ;  and  therefore 
we  should  expect  stability  in  his  workmanship,  rather 
than  elegance. 

Another  April  bird,  which  makes  her  appearance 
sometimes  earlier  and  sometimes  later  than  Robin, 
and  whose  memory  I  fondly  cherish,  is  the  Phoebe- 
bird  (Muscicapa  nunciola),  the  pioneer  of  the  fly- 
catchers. In  the  inland  farming  districts,  I  used  to 
notice  her,  on  some  bright  morning  about  Easter- 
day,  proclaiming  her  arrival  with  much  variety  of 
motion  and  attitude,  from  the  peak  of  the  barn  or 
hay-shed.  As  yet,  you  may  have  heard  only  the 
plaintive,  homesick  note  of  the  bluebird,  or  the  faint 
trill  of  the  song-sparrow ;  and  Phoebe's  clear,  viva- 
cious assurance  of  her  veritable  bodily  presence 
among  us  again  is  welcomed  by  all  ears.  At  agreea- 
ble intervals  in  her  lay  she  describes  a  circle  or  an 
ellipse  in  the  air,  ostensibly  prospecting  for  insects, 
but  really,  I  suspect,  as  an  artistic  flourish,  thrown 
in  to  make  up  in  some  way  for  the  deficiency  of  her 
musical  performance.  If  plainness  of  dress  indicates 
powers  of  song,  as  it  usually  does,  then  Phoebe  ought 
to  be  unrivaled  in  musical  ability,  for  surely  that 
ashen-gray  suit  is  the  superlative  of  plainness  ;  and 


THE   RETURN   OF  THE   BIRDS.  17 

that  form,  likewise,  would  hardly  pass  for  a  "  perfect 
tiiniiv  "  of  a  bird.  The  seasonableness  of  her  com- 
ing, however,  and  her  civil,  neighborly  ways,  shall 
make  up  for  all  deficiencies  in  song  aud  plumage. 
After  a  few  weeks  Phoebe  is  seldom  seen,  except  as 
she  darts  from  her  moss-covered  nest  beneath  some 
bridge  or  shelving  cliff. 

Another  April  comer,  who  arrives  shortly  after 
Robin-redbreast,  with  whom  he  associates  both  at  this 
season  and  in  the  autumn,  is  the  gold-winged  wood- 
pecker, alias  "  high-hole,"  alias  "  flicker,"  alias 
."  yarup."  He  is  an  old  favorite  of  my  boyhood,  and 
his  note  to  me  means  very  much.  lie  announces  his 
arrival  by  a  long,  loud  call,  repeated  from  the  dry 
branch  of  some  tree,  or  a  stake  in  the  fence  —  a 
thoroughly  melodious  April  sound.  I  think  how 
Solomon  finished  that  beautiful  description  of  spring, 
"  And  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  the  land," 
and  see  that  a  description  of  spring  in  this  farming 
country,  to  be  equally  characteristic,  should  culminate 
in  like  manner,  —  ••  And  the  call  of  the  high-hole 
comes  up  from  the  wood." 

It  is  a  loud,  strong,  sonorous  call,  and  does  -not 
seem  to  imply  an  answer,  but  rather  to  subserve  some 
purpose  of  love  or  music.  It  is  4<  Yarup's  "  proclama- 
tion of  peace  and  good-will  to  all.  On  looking  at  the 
matter  closely,  I  perceive  that  most  birds,  not  denom- 
inated songsters,  have,  in  the  spring,  some  note  or 
sound  or  call  that  hints  of  a  song,  and  answers  imper- 
fectly the  end  of  beauty  and  art  As  a  "  livelier  iris 
3 


18  THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

changes  on  the  burnished  dove,"  and  the  fancy  of  the 
young  man  turns  lightly  to  thoughts  of  his  pretty 
cousin,  so  the  same  renewing  spirit  touches  the  "  si- 
lent singers,"  and  they  are  no  longer  dumb ;  faintly 
they  lisp  the  first  syllables  of  the  marvelous  tale. 
Witness  the  clear,  sweet  whistle  of  the  gray-crested 
titmouse,  —  the  soft,  nasal  piping  of  the  nuthatch, — 
the  amorous,  vivacious  warble  of  the  bluebird,  —  the 
long,  rich  note  of  the  meadow-lark,  —  the  whistle  of 
"the  quail,  —  the  drumming  of  the  partridge,  —  the 
animation  and  loquacity  of  the  swallows,  and  the  like. 
Even  the  hen  has  a  homely,  contented  carol ;  and  I 
credit  the  owls  with  a  desire  to  fill  the  night  with 
music.  All  birds  are  incipient  or  would-be  songsters 
in  the  spring.  I  find  corroborative  evidence  of  this 
even  in  the  crowing  of  the  cock.  The  flowering  of 
the  maple  is  not  so  obvious  as  that  of  the  magnolia ; 
nevertheless,  there  is  actual  inflorescence. 

Few  writers  award  any  song  to  that  familiar  little 
sparrow,  the  Socialis  ;  yet  who  that  has  observed  him 
sitting  by  the  way-side,  and  repeating,  with  devout  at- 
titude, that  fine  sliding  chant,  does  not  recognize  the 
neglect  ?  Who  has  heard  the  snow-bird  sing  ?  Yet 
he  has  a  lisping  warble  very  savory  to  the  ear.  I 
have  heard  him  indulge  in  it  even  in  February. 

Even  the  cow-bunting  feels  the  musical  tendency, 
and  aspires  to  its  expression,  with  the  rest.  Perched 
upon  the  .topmost  branch  beside  his  mate  or  mates, — 
for  he  is  quite  a  polygamist,  and  usually  has  two  or 
three  demure  little  ladies  in  faded  black  beside  him, 


THE  RETURN   OF  THE   BIRDS.  19 

— generally  in  the  early  part  of  the  day,  he  seems 
literally  to  vomit  up  his  notes.  Apparently  with 
much  labor  and  effort,  they  gurgle  and  blubber  up 
out  of  him,  falling  on  the  ear  with  a  peculiar  subtile 
ring,  as  of  turning  water  from  a  glass  bottle,  and  not 
without  a  certain  pleasing  cadence. 

Neither  is  the  common  woodpecker  entirely  insen- 
sible to  the  wooing  of  the  spring,  and,  like  the  par- 
tridge, testifies  his  appreciation  of  melody  after  quite 
a  primitive  fashion.  Passing  through  the  woods,  on 
some  clear,  still  morning  in  March,  while  the  metallic 
ring  and  tension  of  winter  are  still  in  the  earth  and 
air,  the  silence  is  suddenly  broken  by  long,  resonant 
hammering  upon  a  dry  limb  or  stub.  It  is  Downy 
beating  a  reveille  to  spring.  In  the  utter  stillness 
and  amid  the  rigid  forms  we  listen  with  pleasure;  and 
as  it  comes  to  my  ear  oftener  at  this  season  than  at 
any  other,  I  freely  exonerate  the  author  of  it  from 
the  imputation  of  any  gastronomic  motives,  and  credit 
him  with  a  genuine  musical  performance. 

It  is  to  be  expected,  therefore,  that  "  Yellow-ham- 
mer" will  respond  to  the  general  tendency,  and  con- 
tribute his  part  to  the  spring  chorus.  His  April  call 
is  his  finest  touch,  his  most  musical  expression. 

I  recall  an  ancient  maple  standing  sentry  to  a  large 
sugar-bush,  that,  year  after  year,  afforded  protection 
to  a  hrood  of  yellow-hammers  in  its  decayed  heart. 
A  week  or  two  before  the  nesting  seemed  actually  to 
have  begun,  three  or  four  of  these  birds  might  be 
seen,  on  almost  any  bright  morning,  gamboling  and 


20  THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

courting  amid  its  decayed  branches.  Sometimes  you 
would  hear  only  a  gentle,  persuasive  cooing,  or  a 
quiet,  confidential  chattering,  —  then  that  long,  loud 
call,  taken  up  by  first  one,  then  another,  as  they  sat 
about  upon  the  naked  limbs,  —  anon,  a  sort  of  wild, 
rollicking  laughter,  intermingled  with  various  cries, 
yelps,  and  squeals,  as  if  some  incident  had  excited 
their  mirth  and  ridicule.  Whether  this  social  hilarity 
and  boisterousness  is  in  celebration  of  the  pairing  or 
mating  ceremony,  or  whether  it  is  only  a  sort  of  an- 
nual "  house-warriiing  "  common  among  high-holes 
on  resuming  their  summer  quarters,  is  a  question 
upon  which  I  reserve  my  judgment. 

Unlike  most  of  his  kinsmen,  the  golden-wing  pre- 
fers the  fields  and  the  borders  of  the  forest  to  the 
deeper  seclusion  of  the  woods,  and  hence,  contrary  to 
the  habit  of  his  tribe,  obtains  most  of  his  subsistence 
from  the  ground,  probing  it  for  ants  and  crickets. 
He  is  not  quite  satisfied  with  being  a  woodp.ecker. 
He  courts  the  society  of  the  robin  and  the  finches, 
abandons  the  trees  for  the  meadow,  and  feeds  eagerly 
upon  berries  and  grain.  What  may  be  the  final  up- 
shot of  this  course  of  living  is  a  question  worthy  the 
attention  of  Darwin.  Will  his  taking  to  the  ground 
and  his  pedestrian  feats  result  in  lengthening  his  legs, 
his  feeding  upon  berries  and  grains  subdue  his  tints 
and  soften  his  voice,  and  his  associating  with  Robin 
put  a  song  into  his  heart  ? 

Indeed,  what  would  be  more  interesting  than  the 
history  of  our  birds  for  the  last  two  or  three  centuries? 


THE   RETURN   OF  THE   BIRDS.  21 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  presence  of  man  has 
exerted  a  very  marked  and  friendly  influence  upon 
them,  since  they  so  multiply  in  his  society.  The  birds 
of  California,  it  is  said,  were  mostly  silent  till  after  its 
settlement,  and  I  doubt  if  the  Indians  heard  the  wood- 
thrush  as  we  hear  him.  Where  did  the  bobolink 
disport  himself  before  there  were  meadows  in  the 
North  and  rice  fields  in  the  South  ?  Was  he  the  same 
blithe,  merry -hearted  beau  then  as  now?  And  the 
sparrow,  the  lurk,  and  the  goldfinch,  birds  that  seem 
so  indigenous  to  the  open  fields  and  so  averse  to  the 
woods,  —  we  cannot  conceive  of  their  existence  in  a 
vast  wilderness  and  without  man. 

But  to  return.  The  song-sparrow,  that  universal 
favorite  and  firstling  of  the  spring,  comes  before 
April,  and  its  simple  strain  gladdens  all  hearts. 

May  is  the  month  of  the  swallows  and  the  orioles. 
There  are  many  other  distinguished  arrivals,  indeed 
nine  tenths  of  the  birds  are  here  by  the  last  week  in 
May,  yet  the  swallows  and  orioles  are  the  most  con- 
spicuous. The  bright  plumage  of  the  latter  seems 
really  like  an  arrival  from  the  tropics.  I  see  them 
flash  through  the  blossoming  trees,  and  all  the  fore- 
noon hear  their  incessant  warbling  and  wooing.  The 
swallows  dive  and  chatter  about  the  barn,  or  squeak 
ami  build  beneath  the  eaves  ;  the  partridge  drums  in 
the  fresh  sprouting  woods  ;  the  long,  tender  note  of 
the  meadow-lark  comes  up  from  the  meadow ;  and  at 
sunset,  from  every  marsh  and  pond  come  the  ten 
thousand  voices  of  the  hylas.  May  is  the  transition 


22  THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

month,  and  exists  to  connect  April  and  June,  the 
root  with  the  flower. 

With  June  the  cup  is  full,  our  hearts  are  satisfied, 
there  is  no  more  to  be  desired.  The  perfection  of 
the  season,  among  other  things,  has  brought  the  per- 
fection of  the  song  and  plumage  of  the  birds.  The 
master  artists  are  all  here ;  and  the  expectations 
excited  by  the  robin  and  the  song-sparrow  are  fully 
justified.  The  thrushes  have  all  come  ;  and  I  sit 
down  upon  the  first  rock,  with  hands  full  of  the  pink 
azalea,  to  listen.  With  me,  the  cuckoo  does  not  ar- 
rive till  June ;  and  often  the  goldfinch,  the  king-bird, 
the  scarlet  tanager  delay  their  coming  till  then.  In 
the  meadows  the  bobolink  is  in  all  his  glory  ;  in  the 
high  pastures  the  field-sparrow  sings  his  breezy  ves- 
per-hymn ;  and  the  woods  are  unfolding  to  the  music 
of  the  thrushes. 

The  cuckoo  is  one  of  the  most  solitary  birds  of  our 
forests,  and  is  strangely  tame  and  quiet,  appearing 
equally  untouched  by  joy  or  grief,  fear  or  anger. 
Something  remote  seems  ever  weighing  upon  his 
mind.  His  note  or  call  is  as  of  one  lost  or  wander- 
dering,  and  to  the  farmer  is  prophetic  of  rain.  Amid 
the  general  joy  and  the  sweet  assurance  of  things,  I 
love  to  listen  to  the  strange  clairvoyant  call.  Heard 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  from  out  the  depths  of  the 
forest,  there  is  something  peculiarly  weird  and  monk- 
ish about  it.  Wordsworth's  lines  upon  the  European 
species  apply  equally  well  to  ours  :  — 

"  0  blithe  new-comer!  I  have  heard, 
I  hear  thee  and  rejoice  : 


THE   RETURN   OF  THE   BIRDS.  23 

O  cuckoo !  shall  I  call  the*  bird  ? 
Or  but  a  wandering  voice  ? 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  gnus, 

Thy  loud  note  -mites  my  ear! 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  put, 

At  once  far  oft  and  near  ! 


"  Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  spring ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 
No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 
A  voice,  a  mystery." 

The  black-billed  is  the  only  species  found  in  my 
locality,  the  yellow-billed  abounds  farther  south. 
Their  note  or  call  is  nearly  the  same.  The  former 
sometimes  suggests  the  voice  of  a  turkey.  The  call 
of  the  latter  may  be  suggested  thus :  k-k-k-k-k-koto, 
kow,  kow-ow,  kow-ow. 

The  yellow-billed  will  take  up  his  stand  in  a  tree, 
and  explore  its  branches  till  he  has  caught  every 
worm.  He  site  on  a  twig,  and  with  a  peculiar  sway- 
ing movement  of  his  head  examines  the  surrounding 
foliage.  When  he  discovers  his  prey,  he  leaps  upon 
it  in  a  fluttering  manner. 

In  June  the  black-billed  makes  a  tour  through  the 
orchard  and  garden,  regaling  himself  upon  the 
canker-worms.  At  this  time  he  is  one  of  the  tamest 
of  birds,  and  will  allow  you  to  approach  within  a 
few  yards  of  him.  I  have  even  come  within  a  few 
feet  of  one  without  seeming  to  excite  his  fear  or  sus- 
picion, lie  is  quite  unsophisticated,  or  else  royally 
Indifferent. 


24  THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

The  plumage  of  the  cuckoo  is  a  rich  glossy  brown, 
and  is  unrivaled  in  beauty  by  any  other  neutral  tint 
with  which  I  am  acquainted.  It  is  also  remarkable 
for  its  firmness  and  fineness. 

Notwithstanding  the  disparity  in  size  and  color, 
the  black-billed  species  has  certain  peculiarities  that 
remind  one  of  the  passenger-pigeon.  His  eye,  with 
its  red  circle,  the  shape  of  his  head,  and  his  motions 
on  alighting  and  taking  flight,  quickly  suggest  the 
resemblance  ;  though  in  grace  and  speed,  when  on 
the  wing,  he  is  far  inferior.  His  tail  seems  dispro- 
portionately long,  like  that  of  the  red  thrush,  and 
his  flight  among  the  trees  is  very  still,  contrasting 
strongly  with  the  honest  clatter  of  the  robin  or 
pigeon. 

Have  you  heard  the  song  of  the  field-sparrow  ? 
If  you  have  lived  in  a  pastoral  country  with  broad 
upland  pastures,  you  could  hardly  have  missed  him. 
Wilson,  I  believe,  calls  him  the  grass-finch,  and  was 
evidently  unacquainted  with  his  powers  of  song. 
The  two  white  lateral  quills  in  his  tail,  and  his  habit 
of  running  and  skulking  a  few  yards  in  advance  of 
you  as  you  walk  through  the  fields,  are  sufficient  to 
identify  him.  Not  in  meadows  or  orchards,  but  in 
high,  breezy  pasture-grounds,  will  you  look  for  him. 
His  song  is  most  noticeable  after  sundown,  when 
other  birds  are  silent;  for  which  reason  he  has  been 
aptly  called  the  vesper- sparrow.  The  farmer  follow- 
ing his  team  from  the  field  at  dusk  catches  his  sweet- 
est strain.  His  song  is  not  so  brisk  and  varied  as 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS.  25 

that  of  the  song-sparrow,  being  softer  and  wilder, 
sweeter  and  more  plaintive.  Add  the  best  parts  of 
the  lay  of  the  latter  to  the  sweet  vibrating  chant  of 
the  wood-sparrow,  and  you  have  the  evening  hymn 
of  the  vesper-bird,  —  the  poet  of  the  plain,  un- 
adorned pastures.  Go  to  those  broad,  smooth,  up- 
lying  fields  where  the  cattle  and  sheep  are  grazing, 
and  sit  down  in  the  twilight  on  one  of  those  warm, 
clean  stones,  and  listen  to  this  song.  On  every  side, 
near  and  remote,  from  out  the  short  grass  which  the 
herds  are  cropping,  the  strain  rises.  Two  or  three 
long,  silver  notes  of  peace  and  rest,  ending  in  some 
subdued  trills  and  quavers,  constitute  each  separate 
song.  Often  you  will  catch  only  one  or  two  of  the 
bars,  the  breeze  having  blown  the  minor  part  away. 
Such  unambitious,  quiet,  unconscious  melody  !  It  is 
one  of  the  most  characteristic  sounds  in  Nature. 
The  grass,  the  stones,  the  stubble,  the  furrow,  the 
quiet  herds,  and  the  warm  twilight  among  the  hills, 
are  all  subtilely  expressed  in  this  song  ;  this  is  what 
they  are  at  last  capable  of. 

The  female  builds  a  plain  nest  in  the  open  field, 
without  so  much  as  a  bush  or  thistle  or  tuft  of  grass 
to  protect  it  or  mark  its  site ;  you  may  step  upon  it 
or  the  cattle  may  tread  it  into  the  ground.  But  the 
danger  from  this  source,  I  presume,  the  bird  consid- 
ers less  than  that  from  another.  Skunks  and  foxes 
have  a  very  impertinent  curiosity,  as  Finchie  well 
knows,  —  and  a  bank  or  hedge,  or  a  rank  growth  of 
grass  or  thistles,  that  might  promise  protection  aud 


26  THE   RETURN    OF   THE   BIRDS. 

cover  to  mouse  or  bird,  these  cunning  rogues  would 
be  apt  to  explore  most  thoroughly.  The  partridge  is 
undoubtedly  acquainted  with  the  same  process  of  rea- 
soning ;  for,  like  the  vesper-bird,  she,  too,  nests  in 
open,  unprotected  places,  avoiding  all  show  of  con- 
cealment,—  coming  from  the  tangled  and  almost  im- 
penetrable parts  of  the  forest,  to  the  clean,  open 
woods,  where  she  can  command  all  the  approaches 
and  fly  with  equal  ease  in  any  direction. 

Another  favorite  sparrow,  but  little  noticed,  is  the 
wood  or  bush  sparrow,  usually  called  by  the  ornith- 
ologists Spizella  pusilla.  Its  size  and  form  is  that  of 
the  socialis,  but  is  less  distinctly  marked,  being  of  a 
duller  redder  tinge.  He  prefers  remote  bushy 
heathery  fields,  where  his  song  is  one  of  the  sweetest 
to  be  heard.  It  is  sometimes  very  noticeable,  es- 
pecially early  in  spring.  I  remember  sitting  one 
bright  day  in  the  still  leafless  April  woods,  when  one 
of  these  birds  struck  up  a  few  rods  from  me,  repeat- 
ing its  lay  at  short  intervals  for  nearly  an  hour.  It 
was  a  perfect  piece  of  wood-music,  and  was  of  course 
all  the  more  noticeable  for  being  projected  upon  such 
a  broad  unoccupied  page  of  silence.  Its  song  is  like 
the  words,  fe-o,  fe-o,  fe-o,  few,  few,  few,  fee  fee  fee, 
uttered  at  first  high  and  leisurely,  but  running  very 
rapidly  toward  the  close,  which  is  low  and  soft. 

Still  keeping  among  the  unrecognized,  the  white- 
eyed  vireo,  or  fly-catcher,  deserves  particular  men- 
tion. The  song  of  this  bird  is  not  particularly  sweet 
and  soft ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  a  little  hard  and  shrill, 


THE   RETURN   OF  THE   BIRDS.  27 

like  tl.at  of  the  indigo-bird  or  oriole  ;  but  for  bright- 
ness,  volubility,  execution,  and  power  of  imitation, 
he  is  unsurpassed  by  any  of  our  northern  birds.  His 
ordinary  note  is  forcible  and  emphatic,  but,  as  stated, 
not  especially  musical :  Chick-a-re'r-chick,  he  seems 
to  say,  hiding  himself  in  the  low,  dense  undergrowth, 
and  eluding  your  most  vigilant  search,  as  if  playing 
some  part  in  a  game.  But  in  July  or  August,  if  you 
are  on  good  terms  with  the  sylvan  deities,  you  may 
listen  to  a  far  more  rare  and  artistic  performance. 
Your  first  impression  will  be  that  that  cluster  of 
azalea,  or  that  clump  of  swamp-huckleberry,  conceals 
three  or  four  different  songsters,  each  vying  with  the 
others  to  lead  the  chorus.  Such  a  medley  of  notes, 
snatched  from  half  the  songsters  of  the  field  and  for- 
est, and  uttered  with  the  utmost  clearness  and  rapid- 
ity, I  am  sure  you  cannot  hear  short  of  the  haunts 
of  the  genuine  mocking-bird.  If  not  fully  and  accu- 
rately repeated,  there  are  at  least  suggested  the  notes 
of  the  robin,  wren,  cat-bird,  high-hole,  goldfinch,  and 
song-sparrow.  The  pip,  pip,  of  the  last  is  produced 
so  accurately  that  I  verily  believe  it  would  deceive 
the  bird  herself ;  —  and  the  whole  nttered  in  such 
rapid  succession  that  it  seems  as  if  the  movement 
that  gives  the  concluding  note  of  one  strain  must 
form  the  first  note  of  the  next.  The  effect  is  very 
rich,  and,  to  my  ear,  entirely  unique.  The  performer 
is  very  careful  not  to  reveal  himself  in  the  mean 
time ;  yet  there  is  a  conscious  air  about  the  strain 
that  impresses  me  with  the  idea  that  my  presence  is 


28  THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIEDS. 

understood  and  my  attention  courted.  A  tone  of 
pride  and  glee,  and,  occasionally,  of  bantering  jocose- 
ness,  is  discernible.  I  believe  it  is  only  rarely,  and 
when  he  is  sure  of  his  audience,  that  he  displays 
his  parts  in  this  manner.  You  are  to  look  for  him, 
not  in  tall  trees  or  deep  forests,  but  in  low,  dense 
shrubbery  about  wet  places,  where  there  are  plenty 
of  gnats  and  mosquitoes. 

The  winter-wren  is  another  marvelous  songster,  in 
speaking  of  whom  it  is  dilficult  to  avoid  superlatives. 
He  is  not  so  conscious  of  his  powers  and  so  ambitions 
of  effect  as  the  white-eyed  fly-catcher,  yet  you  will  not 
be  less  astonished  and  delighted  on  hearing  him.  He 
possesses  the  fluency  and  copiousness  for  which  the 
wrens  are  noted,  and  besides  these  qualities,  and 
what  is  rarely  found  conjoined  with  them,  a  wild, 
sweet,  rhythmical  cadence  that  holds  you  entranced. 
I  shall  not  soon  forget  that  perfect  June  day,  when, 
loitering  in  a  low,  ancient  hemlock  wood,  in  whose 
cathedral  aisles  the  coolness  and  freshness  seems  per- 
ennial, the  silence  was  suddenly  broken  by  a  strain 
so  rapid  and  gushing,  and  touched  with  such  a  wild, 
sylvan  plaintiveness,  that  I  listened  in  amazement. 
And  so  shy  and  coy  was  the  little  minstrel,  that  I 
came  twice  to  the  woods  before  I  was  sure  to  whom 
I  was  listening.  In  summer  he  is  one  of  those  birds 
of  the  deep  northern  forests,  that,  like  the  speckled 
Canada  warbler  and  the  hermit-thrush,  only  the  priv- 
ileged ones  hear. 

The  distribution  of  plants  in  a  given  locality  is  not 


THE   RETFRN   OF   THE   BIRDS.  29 

more  marked  and  defined  than  that  of  thu  birds.  Show 
a  botanist  a  landscape,  and  he  will  tell  you  where  to 
look  for  the  lady's-slipper,  the  columbine,  or  the 
harebell. .  On  the  same  principles  the  ornithologist 
will  direct  you  where  to  look  for  the  greenlets,  the 
wood-sparrow,  or  the  chewink.  In  adjoining  coun- 
ties, in  the  same  latitude,  and  equally  inland,  but 
possessing  a  different  geological  formation  and  differ- 
ent forest-timber,  you  will  observe  quite  a  different 
class  of  birds.  In  a  land  of  the  beech  and  sugar - 
maple  I  do  not  find  the  same  songsters  that  I  know 
where  thrive  the  oak,  chestnut,  and  laurel.  In  going 
from  a  district  of  the  Old  Red  Sandstone  to  where  I 
walk  upon  the  old  Plutonic  Rock,  not  fifty  miles  dis- 
tant, I  miss  in  the  woods  the  veery,  the  hermit- 
thrush,  the  chestnut-sided  warbler,  the  blue-backed 
warbler,  the  green-backed  warbler,  the  black  and  yel- 
low warbler,  and  many  others,  and  find  in  their  stead 
the  wood-thrush,  the  chewink,  the  redstart,  the  yel- 
low-throat, the  yellow-breasted  fly-catcher,  the  white- 
eyed  fly-catcher,  the  quail,  and  the  turtle-dove. 

In  my  neighborhood  here  in  the  Highlands  the 
distribution  is  very  marked.  South  of  the  village  I 
invariably  find  one  species  of  birds,  north  of  it  an- 
other. In  only  one  locality,  full  of  azalea  and  swamp- 
huckleberry,  I  am  always  sure  of  finding  the  hooded 
warbler.  In  a  dense  undergrowth  of  spice-bush, 
witch-ha/el,  and  alder,  I  meet  the  worm-eating  war- 
bler. In  a  remote  clearing,  covered  with  heath  and 
fern,  with  here  and  there  a  chestnut  and  an  oak,  I  go 


30  THE    RETURN    OF   THE   BIRDS. 

to  hear  in  July  the  wood-sparrow,  and  returning  by 
a  stumpy,  shallow  pond,  I  am  sure  to  find  the  water- 
thrush. 

Only  one  locality  within  my  range  seems  to  pos- 
sess attractions  for  all  comers.  Here  one  may  study 
almost  the  entire  ornithology  of  the  State.  It  is  a 
rocky  piece  of  ground,  long  ago  cleared,  but  now  fast 
relapsing  into  the  wildness  and  freedom  of  nature, 
and  marked  by  those  half-cultivated,  half-wild  feat- 
ures which  birds  and  boys  love.  It  is  bounded  on 
two  sides  by  the  village  and  highway,  crossed  at  va- 
rious points  by  carriage-roads,  and  threaded  in  all  di- 
rections by  paths  and  by-ways,  along  which  soldiers, 
laborers,  and  truant  school-boys  are  passing  at  all 
hours  of  the  day.  It  is  so  far  escaping  from  the  axe 
and  the  bush-hook  as  to  have  opened  communication 
with  the  forest  and  mountain  beyond  by  straggling 
lines  of  cedar,  laurel,  and  blackberry.  The  ground 
is  mainly  occupied  with  cedar  and  chestnut,  with  an 
undergrowth,  in  many  places,  of  heath  and  bramble. 
The  chief  feature,  however,  is  a  dense  growth  in  the 
centre,  consisting  of  dogwood,  water-beech,  swamp- 
ash,  alder,  spice-bush,  hazel,  etc.,  with  a  net- work,  of 
smilax  and  frost-grape.  A  little  zigzag  stream,  the 
draining  of  a  swamp  beyond,  which  passes  through 
this  tangle-wood,  accounts  for  many  of  its  features 
and  productions,  if  not  for  its  entire  existence.  Birds 
that  are  not  attracted  by  the  heath  or  the  cedar  and 
chestnut,  are  sure  to  find  some  excuse  for  visiting  this 
miscellaneous  growth  in  the  centre.  Most  of  the 


11IK    KKIIIIN    OF   THE   BIRDS.  31 

common  birds  literally  throng  this  idle-wild ;  and  I 
have  met  here  many  of  the  rarer  species,  such  as  the 
great-crested  fly-catcher,  the  solitary  warbler,  the 
blue-winged  swamp-warbler,  the  worm-eating  warbler, 
the  fox-sparrow,  etc.  The  absence  of  all  birds  of 
prey,  and  the  great  number  of  flies  and  insects,  both 
the  result  of  proximity  to  the  village,  are  considera- 
tions which  no  hawk-fearing,  peace-loving  minstrel 
passes  over  lightly ;  hence  the  popularity  of  the  re- 
sort. 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  all  these  robins,  fly- 
catchers, and  warblers  is  the  wood-thrush.  More 
abundant  than  all  other  birds,  except  the  robin  and 
cat-bird,  he  greets  you  from  every  rock  and  shrub. 
Shy  and  reserved  when  he  flrst  makes  his  appearance 
in  May,  before  the  end  of  June  he  is  tame  and  fa- 
miliar, and  sings  on  the  tree  over  your  head,  or  on  the 
rock  a  few  paces  in  advance.  A  pair  even  built  their 
nest  and  reared  their  brood  within  ten  or  twelve  feet 
of  the  piazza  of  a  large  summer-house  in  the  vicinity. 
But  when  the  guests  commenced  to  arrive  and  the 
piazza  to  be  thronged  with  gay  crowds,  I  noticed 
something  like  dread  and  foreboding  in  the  manner 
of  the  mother-bird  ;  and  from  her  still,  quiet  ways, 
and  lial-it  of  sitting  long  and  silently  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  precious  charge,  it  seemed  as  if  the  dear 
creature  had  resolved,  if  possible,  to  avoid  all  obser- 
vation. 

If  we  take  the  quality  of  melody  as  the  test,  the 
wood-thrush,  hermit-thrush,  and  the  veery-thrush, 
stiunl  :tt  tin-  head  of  our  list  of  songsters. 


32  THE   RETURN    OF   THE   BIRDS. 

The  mocking-bird  undoubtedly  possesses  the  great- 
est range  of  mere  talent,  the  most  varied  executive 
ability,  and  never  fails  to  surprise  and  delight  one 
anew  at  each  hearing  ;  but  being  mostly  an  imitator, 
he  never  approaches  the  serene  beauty  and  sublimity 
of  the  hermit-thrush.  The  word  that  best  expresses 
my  feelings,  on  hearing  the  mocking-bird,  is  admira- 
tion, though  the  first  emotion  is  one  of  surprise  and 
incredulity.  That  so  many  and  such  various  notes 
should  proceed  from  one  throat  is  a  marvel,  and  we 
regard  the  performance  with  feelings  akin  to  those 
we  experience  on  witnessing  the  astounding  feats  of 
the  athlete  or  gymnast,  —  and  this,  notwithstanding 
many  of  the  notes  imitated  have  all  the  freshness 
and  sweetness  of  the  originals.  The  emotions  excited 
by  the  songs  of  these  thrushes  belong  to  a  higher 
order,  springing  as  they  do  from  our  deepest  sense  of 
the  beauty  and  harmony  of  the  world. 

The  wood-thrush  is  worthy  of  all,  and  more  than 
all,  the  praises  he  has  received ;  and  considering  the 
number  of  his  appreciative  listeners,  it  is  not  a  little 
surprising  that  his  relative  and  equal,  the  hermit- 
thrush,  should  have  received  so  little  notice.  Both 
the  great  ornithologists,  Wilson  and  Audubon,  are 
lavish  in  their  praises  of  the  former,  but  have  little  or 
nothing  to  say  of  the  song  of  the  latter.  Audubon 
says  it  is  sometimes  agreeable,  but  evidently  has  never 
heard  it.  Nuttall,  I  am  glad  to  find,  is  more  discrim- 
inating, and  does  the  bird  fuller  justice. 

It   is   quite  a  rare  bird,  of  very  shy  and   secluded 


T1IK   RETURN   OF  THE   BIRDS.  33 

habits,  being  found  in  the  Middle  and  Eastern  States, 
during  the  period  of  song,  only  in  the  deepest  and 
most  remote  forests,  usually  in  damp  and  swampy 
localities.  On  this  account  the  people  in  the  Adiron- 
dac  region  call  it  the  u  Swamp  Angel."  Its  being 
so  much  of  :\  recluse  accounts  for  the  comparative  ig- 
norance that  prevails  in  regard  to  it. 

The  cast  of  its  song  is  very  much  like  that  of  the 
wood-thrush,  and  a  good  observer  might  easily  con- 
found the  two.  But  hear  them  together  and  the  dif- 
ference is  quite  marked  :  the  song  of  the  hermit  is  in 
a  higher  key,  and  is  more  wild  and  ethereal.  His 
instrument  is  a  silver  horn  which  he  winds  in  the 
most  solitary  places.  The  song  of  the  wood-thrush 
is  more  golden  and  leisurely.  Its  tone  comes  near  to 
that  of  some  rare  stringed  instrument.  One  feels 
that  perhaps  the  wood-thrush  has  more  compass  and 
power,  if  he  would  only  let  himself  out,  but  on  the 
whole  he  comes  a  little  short  of  the  pure,  serene, 
hymn-like  strain  of  the  hermit. 

Yet  those  who  have  heard  only  the  wood-thrush 
may  well  place  him  h'rst  on  the  list.  He  is  truly  a 
royal  minstrel,  and  considering  his  liberal  distribu- 
tion throughout  our  Atlantic  seaboard,  perhaps  con- 
tributes more  than  any  other  bird  to  our  sylvan  mel- 
ody. One  may  object  that  he  spends  a  little  too 
much  time  in  tuning  his  instrument,  yet  his  careless 
and  uncertain  touches  reveal  its  rare  compass  and 
power. 

He  is  the  only  songster  of  my  acquaintance,  ex- 


34  THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

cepting  the  canary,  that  displays  different  degrees  of 
proficiency  in  the  exercise  of  his  musical  gifts.  Not 
long  since,  while  walking  one  Sunday  in  the  edge  of 
an  orchard  adjoining  a  wood,  I  heard  one  that  so  ob- 
viously and  unmistakably  surpassed  all  his  rivals, 
that  my  companion,  though  slow  to  notice  such 
things,  remarked  it  wonderingly ;  and  with  one  ac- 
cord we  paused  to  listen  to  so  rare  a  performer.  It 
was  not  different  in  quality  so  much  as  in  quantity. 
Such  a  flood  of  it !  Such  copiousness  !  Such  long, 
trilling,  accelerating  preludes  !  Such  sudden,  ecstatic 
overtures,  would  have  intoxicated  the  dullest  ear. 
He  was  really  without  a  compeer  —  a  master-artist. 
Twice  afterward  I  was  conscious  of  having  heard  the 
same  bird. 

The  wood-thrush  is  the  handsomest  species  of  this 
family.  In  grace  and  elegance  of  mariner  he  has  no 
equal.  Such  a  gentle,  high-bred  air,  and  such  inim- 
itable ease  and  composure  in  his  flight  and  move- 
ment !  lie  is  a  poet  in  very  word  and  deed.  His 
carriage  is  music  to  the  eye.  His  performance  of 
the  commonest  act,  as  catching  a  beetle,  or  picking 
a  worm  from  the  mud.  pleases  like  a  stroke  of  wit  or 
eloquence.  Was  he  a  prince  in  the  olden  time,  and 
do  the  regal  grace  and  mien  still  adhere  to  him  in  his 
transformation  ?  What  a  finely  proportioned  form  ! 
How  plain,  yet  rich  his  color,  —  the  bright  russet  of 
his  back,  the  clear  white  of  his  breast,  with  the  dis- 
tinct heart-shaped  spots !  It  may  be  objected  to 
Robin  that  he  is  noisy  and  demonstrative  ;  he  hurries 


THK    RKTfRX    OF   THE    BIRHS.  35 

away  or  rises  to  a  branch  with  an  angry  note,  and 
flirts  his  wings  in  ill-bred  suspicion.  The  mavis,  or 
red-thrush,  sneaks  and  skulks  like  a  culprit,  hiding  in 
the  densest  alders ;  the  cat-bird  is  a  coquette  and  a 
flirt,  as  well  as  a  sort  of  female  Paul  Pry ;  and  the 
cli.-uink  shows  his  inhospitality  by  espying  your 
movements  like  a  Japanese.  The  wood-thrush  has 
none  of  these  under-bred  traits.  He  regards  me 
miMispiciously.  or  avoids  me  with  a  noble  reserve, — 
or, if  lam  quiet  and  incurious,  graciously  hops  to- 
ward me,  as  if  to  pay  his  respects,  or  to  make  my  ac- 
quaintance. I  have  pMMd  under  his  nest  within  a 
few  feet  of  his  mate  and  brood,  when  he  sat  near  by 
on  a  branch  eying  me  sharply,  but  without  opening 
his  beak  ;  but  the  moment  I  raised  my  hand  toward 
his  defenseless  household  his  anger  and  indignation 
were  beautiful  to  behold. 

What  a  noble  pride  he  has !  Late  one  October, 
after  his  mates  and  companions  had  long  since  gone 
south,  I  noticed  one  for  several  successive  days  in  the 
dense  part  of  this  next-door  wood,  flitting  noiselessly 
about,  very  grave  and  silent,  as  if  doing  penance  for 
some  violation  of  the  code  of  honor.  By  many  gen- 
tle, indiivrt  approaches,  I  perceived  that  part  of  his 
tail-feathers  were  undeveloped.  The  sylvan  prince 
could  not  think  of  returning  to  court  in  this  plight, 
and  so,  amid  the  falling  leaves  and  cold  rains  of 
autumn,  was  patiently  biding  his  time. 

The  soft,  mellow  flute  of  the  veery  nils  a  place  in 
the  chorus  of  the  woods  that  the  song  of  the  vesper- 


36  THE   RETURN    OF   THE   BIRDS. 

sparrow  fills  in  the  chorus  of  the  fields.  It  has  the 
the  nightingale's  habit  of  singing  in  the  twilight,  as 
indeed  have  all  our  thrushes.  Walk  out  toward  the 
forest  in  the  warm  twilight  of  a  June  day,  and  when 
fifty  rods  distant  you  will  hear  their  soft,  reverberat- 
ing notes,  rising  from  a  do/en  different  throats. 

It  is  one  of  the  simplest  strains  to  be  heard,  —  as 
simple  as  the  curve  in  form,  delighting  from  the  pure 
element  of  harmony  and  beauty  it  contains,  and  not 
from  any  novel  or  fantastic  modulation  of  it,  —  thus 
contrasting  strongly  with  such  rollicking,  hilarious 
songsters  as  the  bobolink,  in  whom  we  are  chiefly 
pleased  with  the  tintinnabulation,  the  verbal  and  la- 
bial excellence,  and  the  evident  conceit  and  delight  of 
the  performer. 

I  hardly  know  whether  I  am  more  pleased  or  an- 
noyed with  the  cat-bird.  Perhaps  she  is  a  little  too 
common,  and  her  part  in  the  general  chorus  a  little 
too  conspicuous.  If  you  are  listening  for  the  note  of 
another  bird,  she  is  sure  to  be  prompted  to  the  most 
loud  and  protracted  sinking,,  drowning  all  other 
sounds ;  if  you  sit  quietly  down  to  observe  a  favorite 
or  study  a  new-comer,  her  curiosity  knows  no 
bounds,  and  you  are  scanned  and  ridiculed  from 
every  point  of  observation.  Yet  I  would  not  miss 
her  ;  I  would  only  subordinate  her  a  little,  make  her 
less  conspicuous. 

She  is  the  parodist  of  the  woods,  and  there  is  ever 
a  mischievous,  bantering,  half-ironical  undertone  in 
her  lay,  as  if  she  were  conscious  of  mimicking  and 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS.  37 

disconcerting  some  envied  songster.  Ambitious  of 
song,  practicing  ami  rabottlillg  in  private,  she  yet 
seems  the  least  sincere  and  genuine  of  the  sylvan 
minstrels,  as  if  she  had  taken  up  music  only  to  be  in 
ill.-  fashion,  or  not  to  be  outdone  by  the  robins  and 
thrushes.  In  other  words,  she  seems  to  sing  from 
some  outward  motive,  and  not  from  inward  joyous- 
DOM.  She  is  a  good  versifier,  but  not  a  great  poet. 
Vigorous,  rapid,  copious,  not  without  fine  touches, 
but  destitute  of  any  high,  serene  melody,  her  per- 
formance, like  that  of  Thoreau's  squirrel,  always  im- 
plies a  spectator. 

There  is  a  certain  air  and  polish  about  her  strain, 
however,  like  that  in  the  vivacious  conversation  of  a 
well-bred  lady  of  the  world,  that  commands  respect. 
HIT  inulernal  instinct,  also,  is  very  strong,  and  that 
simple  structure  of  dead  twigs  and  dry  grass  is  the 
centre  of  much  anxious  solicitude.  Not  long  since, 
while  strolling  through  the  woods,  my  attention  was 
attracted  to  a  small  densely  grown  swamp,  hedged  in 
with  eglantine,  brambles,  and  the  everlasting  smilax, 
from  which  proceeded  loud  cries  of  distress  and  alarm, 
indicating  that  some  terrible  calamity  was  threaten- 
ing my  sombre-colored  minstrel.  On  effecting  an  en- 
trancr.  \vhi.-h.  however,  was  not  accomplished  till  I 
had  dotVed  coat  and  hat,  so  as  to  diminish  the  surface 
<\  to  the  thorns  and  brambles,  and  looking 
around  me  from  a  square  yard  of  terra  firma,  I  found 
:  the  spectator  of  a  loathsome,  yet  fascinating 
scene.  Three  or  four  yards  from  me  was  the  nest, 


38  THE   RETURN    OF   THE  BIRDS. 

beneath  which,  in  long  festoons,  rested  a  huge  black 
snake  ;  a  bird  two  thirds  growji,  was  slowly  disap- 
pearing between  his  expanded  jaws.  As  he  seemed 
unconscious  of  my  presence,  I  quietly  observed  the 
proceedings.  By  slow  degrees  he  compassed  the  bird 
about  with  his  elastic  mouth  ;  his  head  flattened,  his 
neck  writhed  and  swelled,  and  two  or  three  undula- 
tory  movements  of  his  glistening  body  finished  the 
work.  Then,  he  cautiously  raised  himself  up,  his 
tongue  flaming  from  his  mouth  the  while,  curved  over 
the  nest,  and,  with  wavy,  subtle  motions,  explored 
the  interior.  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  more  over- 
poweringly  terrible  to  an  unsuspecting  family  of 
birds  than  the  sudden  appearance  above  their  domi- 
cile of  the  head  and  neck  of  this  arch-enemy.  It  is 
enough  to  petrify  the  blood  in  their  veins.  Not  find- 
ing the  object  of  his  search,  he  came  streaming  down 
from  the  nest  to  a  lower  limb,  and  commenced  ex- 
tending his  researches  in  other  directions,  sliding 
stealthily  through  the  branches,  bent  on  capturing 
one  of  the  parent  birds.  That  a  legless,  wingless 
creature  should  move  with  such  ease  and  rapidity 
where  only  birds  and  squirrels  are  considered  at 
home,  lifting  himself  up,  letting  himself  down,  run- 
ning out  on  the  yielding  boughs,  and  traversing  with 
marvelous  celerity  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of 
the  thicket,  was  truly  surprising.  One  thinks  of  the 
great  myth,  of  the  Tempter  and  the  "  cause  of  all  our 
woe,"  and  wonders  if  the  Arch  One  is  not  now  play- 
ing off  some  of  his  pranks  before  him.  Whether  we 


THE   BETIRN    OF   THE    Bll:l»-.  39 

call  it  snake  or  devil  matters  little.  I  could  but  ad- 
mire his  ti-n-ilil.-  beauty,  however;  his  black,  shining 
folds,  his  easy,  gliding  movement,  head  erect,  eyes 
i:li-UMiing,  tongue  playing  like  subtle  flame,  and  the 
invisible  means  of  his  almost  winged  locomotion. 

The  parent  birds,  in  the  mean  while,  kept  up  the 
most  agonizing  cry,  —  at  times  fluttering  furiously 
about  their  pursuer,  and  actually  laying  hold  of  his 
tail  with  their  beaks  and  claws.  On  being  thus  at- 
tacked, the  snake  would  suddenly  double  UJM.II  him- 
self and  follow  his  own  body  back,  thus  executing  a 
strategic  movement  that  at  first  seemed  almost  to 
paralyze  his  victim  and  place  her  within  his  grasp. 
Not  quite,  however.  Before  his  jaws  could  close 
upon  the  coveted  prize  the  bird  would  tear  herself 
away,  and,  apparently  faint  and  sobbing,  retire  to  a 
hi.L'hrr  branch.  His  reputed  powers  of  fascination 
availed  him  little,  though  it  is  possible  that  a  frailer 
and  less  combative  bird  might  have  been  held  by  the 
fatal  s|>ell.  Presently,  as  he  came  gliding  down  the 
sU-mlor  body  of  a  leaning  alder,  his  attention  was  at- 
trartrd  by  a  slight  movement  of  my  arm;  eying  me 
an  in-taut,  with  that  crouching,  utter,  motionless  gaze 
\\liirli  I  believe  only  snakes  and  devils  can  assume, 
he  turned  quickly,  —  a  feat  which  necessitated  some- 
thing like  crawling  over  his  own  body,  —  and  glided 
off  through  the  branches,  t-vidrntly  recognizing  in  me 
a  representative  of  the  ancient  parties  he  once  so  cun- 
ningly ruined.  A  few  moments  after,  as  he  lay  care- 
lessly disposed  in  the  top  of  a  rank  alder,  trying  to 


40  THE   RETURN    OF   THE   BIRDS. 

look  as  much  like  a  crooked  branch  as  his  supple, 
shining  form  would  admit,  the  old  vengeance  over- 
took him.  I  exercised  my  prerogative,  and  a  well- 
directed  missile,  in  the  shape  of  a  stone,  brought  him 
looping  and  writhing  to  the  ground.  After  I  had 
completed  his  downfall  and  quiet  had  been  partially 
restored,  a  half-fledged  member  of  the  bereaved 
household  came  out  from  his  hiding-place,  and,  jump- 
ing upon  a  decayed  branch,  chirped  vigorously,  no 
doubt  in  celebration  of  the  victory. 

Till  the  middle  of  July  there  is  a  general  equilib- 
rium ;  the  tide  stands  poised ;  the  holiday-spirit  is 
unabated.  But  as  the  harvest  ripens  beneath  the 
long,  hot  days,  the  melody  gradually  ceases.  The 
young  are  out  of  the  nest  and  must  be  cared  for,  and 
the  moulting  season  is  at  hand.  After  the  cricket 
has  commenced  to  drone  bis  monotonous  refrain  be- 
neath your  window,  you  will  not,  till  another  season, 
hear  the  wood-thrush  in  all  his  matchless  eloquence. 
The  bobolink  has  become  careworn  and  fretful,  and 
blurts  out  snatches  of  his  song  between  his  scolding 
and  upbraiding,  as  you  approach  the  vicinity  of  his 
nest,  oscillating  between  anxiety  for  his  brood  and 
solicitude  for  his  musical  reputation.  Some  of  the 
sparrows  still  sing,  and  occasionally  across  the  hot 
fields,  from  a  tall  tree  in  the  edge  of  the  forest,  comes 
the  rich  note  of  the  scarlet  tanager.  This  tropical- 
colored  bird  loves  the  hottest  weather,  and  I  hear  him 
even  in  dog-days. 

The  remainder  of  the  summer  is  the  carnival  of 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS.  41 

the  swallows  and  fly-catchers.  Kli«  s  and  insects,  to 
anv  amount,  are  to  be  had  for  the  catching;  an  1  the 
opportunity  is  well  improved.  See  that  sombre, 
ashen-colored  pewee  on  yonder  branch.  A  true 
sportsman  he,  who  never  takos  his  game  at  rest,  but 
always  on  the  wiiii,'.  Yon  vagrant  fly,  you  purblind 
moth,  beware  how  you  come  within  his  range  !  Ob- 
serve his  attitude,  the  curious  movement  of  his  head, 
hi^  ••  i-ve  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling,  glancing  from  heaven 
to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven." 

His  sight  is  microscopic  and  his  aim  sure.  Quick 
as  thought  he  has  seized  his  victim  and  is  back  to  his 
perch.  There  is  no  strife,  no  pursuit,  —  one  fell 
swoop  and  the  matter  is  ended.  That  little  sparrow, 
as  v«u  will  observe,  is  less  skilled.  It  is  the  Socialis, 
ami  lie  finds  his  subsistence  properly  in  various  ieedi 
ami  the  larva;  of  insects,  though  he  occasionally  has 
higher  aspirations,  and  seeks  to  emulate  the  pewee, 
commencing  and  ending  his  career  as  a  fly-catcln-r  l»y 
an  awkward  chase  after  a  beetle  or  "  miller."  He  is 
hunting  around  in  the  grass  now,  I  suspect,  with  the 
desire  to  indulge  this  favorite  whim.  There! — the 
opportunity  is  afforded  him.  Away  goes  a  little 
cream-colored  meadow-moth  in  the  most  tortuous 
course  he  is  capable  of,  and  away  goes  Sociolis  in 
pursuit.  The  contest  is  quite  comical,  though  I  dare 
say  it  is  serious  enough  to  the  moth.  The  chase  con- 
tinues for  a  few  yard-,  \vhi-n  there  is  a  sudden  rushing 
to  cover  in  the  grass,  —  then  a  taking  to  wing  again, 
wheu  the  search  has  become  too  close,  and  the  moth 


42  THE   RETURN    OF   THE   BIRDS. 

has  recovered  his  wind.  Socialis  chirps  angrily,  and 
is  determined  not  to  be  beaten.  Keeping,  with  the 
slightest  effort,  upon  the  heels  of  the  fugitive,  he  is 
ever  on  the  point  of  halting  to  snap  him  up,  but  never 
quite  does  it,  —  and  so,  between  disappointment  and 
expectation,  is  soon  disgusted,  and  returns  to  pursue 
his  more  legitimate  means  of  subsistence. 

In  striking  contrast  to  this  serio-comic  strife  of  the 
sparrow  and  the  moth,  is  the  pigeon-hawk's  pursuit 
of  the  sparrow  or  the  goldfinch.  It  is  a  race  of  sur- 
prising speed  and  agility.  It  is  a  test  of  wing  and 
wind.  Every  muscle  is  taxed,  and  every  nerve 
strained.  Such  cries  of  terror  and  consternation  on 
the  part  of  the  bird,  tacking  to  the  right  and  left,  and 
making  the  most  desperate  efforts  to  escape,  and  such 
silent  determination  on  the  part  of  the  hawk,  pressing 
the  bird  so  closely,  flashing  and  turning  and  timing 
his  movements  with  those  of  the  pursued  as  accurately 
and  as  inexorably  as  if  the  two  constituted  one  body, 
excite  feelings  of  the  deepest  concern.  You  mount 
the  fence  or  rush  out  of  your  way  to  see  the  issue. 
The  only  salvation  for  the  bird  is  to  adopt  the  tactics 
of  the  moth,  seeking  instantly  the  cover  of  some  tree, 
bush,  or  hedge,  where  its  smaller  size  enables  it  to 
move  about  more  rapidly.  These  pirates  are  aware 
of  this,  and  therefore  prefer  to  take  their  prey  by  one 
fell  swoop.  You  may  see  one  of  them  prowling 
through  an  orchard,  with  the  yellow-birds  hovering 
about  him,  crying,  Pi-ty,  pi-ty,  in  the  most  despond- 
ing tone ;  yet  he  seems  not  to  regard  them,  knowing, 


THE   RKTUBN   OF   THE   BIBDS.  43 

as  do  they,  that  in  the  close  branches  they  are  as  safe 
as  if  in  a  wall  of  adamant. 

August  is  the  month  of  the  high  sailing  hawks. 
The  hen-hawk  is  the  most  noticeable.  He  likes  the 
haze  and  calm  of  these  long,  warm  days.  He  is  a 
bird  of  leisure,  and  seems  always  at  his  ease.  How 
beautiful  and  majestic  are  his  movements  !  So  self- 
poised  and  easy,  such  an  entire  absence  of  haste,  such 
a  magnificent  amplitude  of  circles  and  spirals,  such  a 
haughty,  imperial  grace,  and,  occasionally,  such  daring 
aerial  evolutions  ! 

With  slow,  leisurely  movement,  rarely  vibrating 
his  pinions,  he  mounts  and  mounts  in  an  ascending 
spiral  till  he  appears  a  mere  speck  against  the  sum- 
mer >ky  ;  then,  if  the  mood  seizes  him,  with  wings 
half-closed,  like  a  bent  bow,  he  will  cleave  the  air 
almost  perpendicularly,  as  if  intent  on  dashing  him- 
self to  pieces  against  the  earth  ;  but  on  nearing  the 
ground,  he  suddenly  mounts  again  on  broad,  ex- 
panded wing,  as  if  rebounding  upon  the  air,  and  sails 
leisurely  away.  It  is  the  sublimest  feat  of  the  sea- 
son. One  holds  his  breath  till  he  sees  him  rise 


If  inclined  to  a  more  gradual  and  less  precipitous 
descent  he  fixes  his  eye  on  some  distant  point  in  the 
earth  beneath  him,  and  thither  bends  his  course.  He 
is  still  almost  meteoric  in  his  speed  and  boldness. 
Tou  see  his  path  down  the  heavens,  straight  as  a 
line  ;  if  near,  you  hear  the  rush  of  his  wings  ;  his 
shadow  hurtles  across  the  fields,  and  in  an  instant 


44  THE   RETURN    OF   THE    BIRDS. 

you  see  him  quietly  perched  upon  some  low  tree  or 
decayed  stub  in  a  swamp  or  meadow,  with  reminis- 
cences of  frogs  and  mice  stirring  in  his  maw. 

When  the  south  wind  blows,  it  is  a  study  to  see 
three  or  four  of  these  air-kings  at  the  head  of  the 
valley  far  up  toward  the  mountain,  balancing  and  os- 
cillating upon  the  .strong  current :  now  quite  station- 
ary, except  a  slight  tremulous  motion  like  the  poise 
of  a  rope-dancer,  then  rising  and  falling  in  long  undu- 
lations, and  seeming  to  resign  themselves  passively 
to  the  wind  ;  or,  asain,  sailing  high  and  level  far 
above  the  mountain's  peak,  no  bluster  and  haste,  but, 
as  stated,  occasionally  a  terrible  earnestness  and 
speed.  Fire  at  one  as  he  sails  overhead,  and,  unless 
wounded  badly  he  will  not  change  his  course  or  gait. 

His  flight  is  a  perfect  picture  of  repose  in  motion. 
It  strikes  the  eye  as  more  surprising  than  the  flight 
of  the  pigeon  and  swallow  even,  in  that  the  effort  put 
forth  is  so  uniform  and  delicate  as  to  escape  observa- 
tion, giving  to  the  movement  an  air  of  buoyancy  and 
perpetuity,  the  effluence  of  power  rather  than  the  con- 
scious application  of  it. 

The  calmness  and  dignity  of  this  hawk,  when  at- 
tacked by  crows  or  the  king-bird,  are  well  worthy  of 
him.  He  seldom  deigns  to  notice  his  noisy  and  fu- 
rious antagonists,  but  deliberately  wheels  about  in 
that  aerial  spiral,  and  mounts  and  mounts  till  his 
pursuers  grow  dizzy  and  return  to  earth  again.  It  is 
quite  original,  this  mode  of  getting  rid  of  an  unworthy 
opponent,  rising  to  heights  where  the  braggart  is 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BIRDS. 


45 


dazed  and  bewildered  and  loses  his  reckoning  !     I  am 
not  sure  but  it  is  worthy  of  imitation. 

Hut  summer  wanes,  and  autumn  approaches.  The 
songsters  of  the  seed-time  are  silent  at  the  reaping  of 
the  harvest  Other  minstrels  take  up  the  strain.  It 
is  the  heyday  of  insect  life.  The  day  is  canopied 
with  musical  sound.  All  the  songs  of  the  spring  and 
summer  appear  to  be  floating,  softened  and  refined, 
in  the  upper  air.  The  birds  in  a  new,  but  less  holi- 
day suit,  turn  their  faces  southward.  The  swallows 
flock  and  go  ;  the  bobolinks  flock  and  go  ;-  silently 
and  unobserved,  the  thrushes  go.  Autumn  arrives, 
bringing  finches,  warblers,  sparrows  and  kinglets  from 
th.  North.  Silently  the  procession  passes.  Yonder 
hawk,  sailing  peacefully  away  till  he  is  lost  in  the 
horizon,  is  a  symbol  of  the  closing  season  and  the  de- 
parting birds. 


Ytllow-btllwJ  Cuckoo. 


IN   THE    HEMLOCKS. 


IN  THE   HEMLOCKS. 

MOST  people  receive  with  incredulity  a  statement 
of  tin*  number  of  birds  that  annually  visit  our  cli- 
mate. Very  few  even  are  aware  of  half  the  number 
that  spend  the  summer  in  their  own  immediate  vicin- 
ity. We  little  suspect,  when  we  walk  in  the  woods, 
whose  privacy  we  are  intruding  upon,  —  what  rare 
and  circuit  visitants  from  Mexico,  from  Central  and 
South  America,  and  from  the  islands  of  the  sea,  are 
holding  their  reunions  in  the  branches  over  our 
In-all-,  or  pursuing  their  pleasure  on  the  ground  be- 
fore us. 

I  recall  the  altogether  admirable  and  shining  fam- 
ily \\hi<h  Thoreau  dreamed  he  saw  in  the  upper 
diamlmrs  of  Spaulding's  woods,  which  Spaulding  did 
not  know  lived  there,  and  which  were  not  put  out 
4 


50  IN   THE   HEMLOCKS. 

when  Spaulding,  whistling,  drove  his  team  through 
their  lower  halls.  They  did  not  go  into  society  in 
the  village ;  they  were  quite  well  ;  they  had  sons  and 
daughters  ;  they  neither  wove  nor  spun  ;  there  was  a 
sound  as  of  suppressed  hilarity. 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  the  forester  was  only 
saying  a  pretty  thing  of  the  birds,  though  I  have  ob- 
served that  it  does  sometimes  annoy  them  when 
Spaulding's  cart  rumbles  through  their  house.  Gen- 
erally, however,  they  are  as  unconscious  of  Spaulding 
as  Spaulding  is  of  them. 

Walking  the  other  day  in  an  old  hemlock  wood,  I 
counted  over  forty  varieties  of  these  summer  visit- 
ants, many  of  them  common  to  other  woods  in  the 
vicinity,  but  quite  a  number  peculiar  to  these  ancient 
solitudes,  and  not  a  few  that  are  rare  in  any  locality. 
It  is  quite  unusual  to  find  so  large  a  number  abiding 
in  one  forest,  —  and  that  not  a  large  one,  —  most  of 
them  nesting  and  spending  the  summer  there.  Many 
of  those  I  observed  commonly  pass  this  season  much 
farther  north.  But  the  geographical  distribution  of 
birds  is  rather  a  climatical  one.  The  same  tempera- 
ture, though  under  different  parallels,  usually  attracts 
the  same  birds;  difference  in  altitude  being  equiva- 
lent to  the  difference  in  latitude.  A  given  height 
above  the  sea  level  under  the  parallel  of  thirty  de- 
grees may  have  the  same  climate  as  places  under 
that  of  thirty-five  degrees,  and  similar  Flora  and 
Fauna.  At  the  head-waters  of  the  Delaware,  where 
I  write,  the  latitude  is  that  of  Boston,  but  the  region 


IN  THE   HEMLOCKS.  51 

has  a  much  greater  elevation,  and  hence  a  climate 
that  compares  better  with  the  northern  part  of  the 
State  and  of  New  England.  Half  a  day's  drive  to 
the  southeast  brings  me  down  into  quite  a  different 
temperature,  with  an  older  geological  formation,  dif- 
t'.-rrnt  forest  timber,  and  different  birds  ;  —  even  with 
different  mammals.  Neither  the  little  gray  rabbit 
nor  the  little  gray  fox  is  found  in  my  locality,  but  the 
great  northern  hare  and  the  red  fox.  In  the  last 
century  a  colony  of  beavers  dwelt  here,  though  the 
oldest  inhabitant  cannot  now  point  to  even  the  tradi- 
tional site  of  their  dams.  The  ancient  hemlocks, 
whither  I  propose  to  take  the  reader,  are  rich  in 
many  things  beside  birds.  Indeed,  their  wealth  in 
this  respect  is  owing  mainly,  no  doubt,  to  their  rank 
vegetable  growths,  their  fruitful  swamps,  and  their 
dark,  sheltered  retreats. 

Their  history  is  of  an  heroic  cast  Ravished  and 
torn  by  the  tanner  in  his  thirst  for  bark,  preyed  upon 
by  the  lumberman,  assaulted  and  beaten  back  by  the 
settler,  still  their  spirit  has  never  been  broken,  their 
energies  never  paralyzed.  Not  many  years  ago  a 
public  highway  passed  through  them,  but  it  was  at 
no  time  a  tolerable  road ;  trees  fell  across  it,  mud 
and  limbs  choked  it  up,  till  finally  travelers  took  the 
hint  and  went  around;  and  now,  walking  along  its 
deserted  course,  I  see  only  the  foot-prints  of  coons, 
foxes,  and  squirrels. 

Nature  loves  such  woods,  and  places  her  own  seal 
upon  them.  Here  she  shows  me  what  can  be  done 


52  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

with  ferns  and  mosses  and  lichens.  The  soil  is  mar- 
rowy and  full  of  innumerable  forests.  Standing  in 
these  fragrant  aisles,  I  feel  the  strength  of  the  vege- 
table kingdom  and  am  awed  by  the  deep  and  in- 
scrutable processes  of  life  going  on  so  silently  about 
me. 

No  hostile  forms  with  axe  or  spud  now  visit  these 
solitudes.  The  cows  have  half-hidden  ways  through 
them,  and  know  where  the  best  browsing  is  to  be 
had.  In  spring  the  farmer  repairs  to  their  bordering 
of  maples  to  make  sugar;  in  July  and  August  women 
and  boys  from  all  the  country  about  penetrate  the 
old  Bark-peelings  for  raspberries  and  blackberries; 
and  I  know  a  youth  who  wonderingly  follows  their 
languid  stream  casting  for  trout. 

In  like  spirit,  alert  and  buoyant,  on  this  bright 
June  morning  go  I  also  to  reap  my  harvest,  —  pursu- 
ing a  sweet  more  delectable  than  sugar,  fruit  more 
savory  than  berries,  and  game  for  another  palate  than 
that  tickled  by  trout. 

June,  of  all  the  months,  the  student  of  ornithology 
can  least  afford  to  lose.  Most  birds  are  nesting 
then,  and  in  full  song  and  plumage.  And  what  is  a 
bird  without  its  song?  Do  we  not  wait  for  the 
stranger  to  speak  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  do  not 
know  a  bird  till  I  have  heard  its  voice  ;  then  I  come 
nearer  it  at  once,  and  it  possesses  a  human  interest 
to  me.  I  have  met  the  gray-cheeked  thrush  (Tur- 
dus  alicice]  in  the  woods,  and  held  him  in  my  hand  ; 
still  I  do  not  know  him.  The  silence  of  the  cedar- 


IN   THE   HEMLOCKS.  53 

bird  throws  a  mystery  about  him  which  neither  his 
good  looks  nor  his  petty  larcenies  in  cherry  time  can 
.dispel.  A  bird's  song  contains  a  clew  to  its  life,  and 
establishes  a  sympathy,  an  understanding,  between 
itself  and  the  listener. 

I  descend  a  steep  hill,  and  approach  the  hemlocks 
through  a  large  sugar-bush.  When  twenty  rods  dis- 
tant, I  hear  all  along  the  line  of  the  forest  the  inces- 
sant warble  of  the  red-eyed  fly-catcher  (  Virtosylvia 
olivacea),  cheerful  and  happy  as  the  merry  whistle  of 
a  school-boy.  He  is  one  of  our  most  common  and 
widely  distributed  birds.  Approach  any  forest  at 
any  hour  of  the  day,  in  any  kind  of  weather,  from 
May  to  August,  in  any  of  the  Middle  or  Eastern  dis- 
tricts, and  the  chances  are  that  the  first  note  you  hear 
will  be  his.  Rain  or  shine,  before  noon  or  after,  in 
the  deep  forest  or  in  the  village  grove,  —  when  it  is 
too  hot  for  the  thrushes  or  too  cold  and  windy  for 
the  warblers,  —  it  is  never  out  of  time  or  place  for 
this  little  minstrel  to  indulge  his  cheerful  strain.  In 
the  deep  wilds  of  the  Adirondac,  where  few  birds 
are  seen  and  fewer  heard,  his  note  was  almost  con- 
stantly in  my  ear.  Always  busy,  making  it  a  point 
never  to  suspend  for  one  moment  his  occupation  to  in- 
dulge his  musical  taste,  his  lay  is  that  of  industry  and 
contentment.  There  is  nothing  plaintive  or  especially 
musical  in  his  performance,  but  the  sentiment  ex 
pressed  is  eminently  that  of  cheerfulness.  Indeed, 
the  songs  of  most  birds  have  some  human  signifi- 
cance, which,  I  think,  is  the  source  of  the  delight  we 


54  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

take  in  them.  The  song  of  the  bobolink  to  me  ex- 
presses hilarity ;  the  song-sparrow's,  faith  ;  the  blue- 
bird's, love  ;  the  cat-bird's,  pride  ;  the  white-eyed  fly- 
catcher's, self-consciousness  ;  that  of  the  hermit-thrush, 
spiritual-serenity:  while  there  is  something  military 
in  the  call  of  the  robin. 

The  vireosylvia  is  classed  among  the  fly-catchers 
by  some  writers,  but  is  much  more  of  a  worm-eater, 
and  has  few  of  the  traits  or  habits  of  the  Muscicapa 
or  the  true  Sylvia.  He  resembles  somewhat  the 
warbling  vireo  (  Vireo  gilvus),  and  the  two  birds  are 
often  confounded  by  careless  observers.  Both  war- 
ble in  the  same  cheerful  strain,  but  the  latter  more 
continuously  and  rapidly.  The  red-eye  is  a  larger, 
slimmer  bird,  with  a  faint  bluish  crown,  and  a  light 
line  over  the  eye.  His  movements  are  peculiar. 
You  may  see  him  hopping  among  the  limbs,  explor- 
ing the  under  side  of  the  leaves,  peering  to  the  right 
and  left,  now  flitting  a  few  feet,  now  hopping  as 
many,  and  warbling  incessantly,  occasionally  in  a 
subdued  tone,  which  sounds  from  a  very  indefinite 
distance.  When  he  has  found  a  worm  to  his  liking, 
he  turns  lengthwise  of  the  limb,  and  bruises  its  head 
with  his  beak  before  devouring  it. 

As  I  enter  the  woods  the  slate-colored  snow-bird 
(Fringilla  Hudsonid)  starts  up  before  me  and  chirps 
sharply.  His  protest  when  thus  disturbed  is  almost 
metallic  in  its  sharpness.  He  breeds  here,  and  is  not 
esteemed  a  snow-bird  at  all,  as  he  disappears  at  the 
near  approach  of  winter,  and  returns  again  in  spring, 


IN    1HK   HKMLOCKS.  55 

like  tlu-  si  m;:-sj>arrow,  and  is  not  in  any  way  associ- 
ate 1  with  the  cold  and  the  snow.  So  different  are 
the  habits  of  birds  in  different  localities.  Even  the 
crow  does  not  winter  here,  and  is  seldom  seen  after 
December  or  before  March. 

The  snow-bird,  or  "  black  chipping-bird,"  as  it  is 
known  among  the  farmers,  is  the  finest  architect  of 
any  of  the  ground-builders  known  to  me.  The  site 
of  its  nest  is  usually  some  low  bank  by  the  road-sido 
near  a  wood.  In  a  slight  excavation,  with  a  partially 
concealed  entrance,  the  exquisite  structure  is  placed. 
Horse  and  cow  hair  are  plentifully  used,  imparting  to 
the  interior  of  the  nest  great  symmetry  and  firmness 
as  well  as  softness. 

Passing  down  through  the  maple  arches,  barely 
pausing  to  observe  the  antics  of  a  trio  of  squirrels, — 
two  gray  ones  and  a  black  one,  —  I  cross  an  an- 
cient brush  fence  and  am  fairly  within  the  old  hem- 
lock?, and  in  one  of  the  most  primitive,  undisturbed 
nooks.  In  the  deep  moss  I  tread  as  with  muffled 
feet,  and  the  pupils  of  my  eyes  dilate  in  the  dim,  al- 
most religious  light.  The  irreverent  red  squirrels, 
however,  run  and  snicker  at  my  approach,  or  mock 
the  solitude  with  their  ridiculous  chattering  and  frisk- 
in-. 

Tin-  nook  is  the  chosen  haunt  of  the  winter  wren. 
This  is  the  only  place  and  these  the  only  woods  in 
which  I  find  him  in  this  vicinity.  His  voice  fills 
these  dim  aisles,  as  if  aided  by  some  marvelous 
sounding-board.  Indeed,  his  song  is  very  strong  for 


56  IN   THE   HEMLOCKS. 

so  small  a  bird  and  unites  in  a  remarkable  degree 
brilliancy  and  plaintiveness.  I  think  of  a  tremulous 
vibrating  tongue  of  silver.  You  may  know  it  is  the 
song  of  a  wren,  from  its  gushing  lyrical  character : 
but  you  must  needs  look  sharp  to  see  the  little  min- 
strel, especially  while  in  the  act  of  singing.  He  is 
nearly  the  color  of  the  ground  and  the  leaves  ;  he 
never  ascends  the  tall  trees,  but  keeps  low,  flitting 
from  stump  to  stamp  and  from  root  to  root,  dodging 
in  and  out  of  his  hiding-places,  and  watching  all  in- 
truder with  a  suspicious  eye.  He  has  a  very  pert, 
almost  comical  look.  His  tail  stands  more  than  per- 
pendicular :  it  points  straight  toward  his  head.  He 
is  the  least  ostentatious  singer  I  know  of.  He  does 
not  strike  an  attitude,  and  lift  up  his  head  in  prepara- 
tion, and,  as  it  were,  clear  his  throat ;  but  sits  there 
on  a  log  and  pours  out  his  music,  looking  straight  be- 
fore him,  or  even  down  at  the  ground.  As  a  song- 
ster, he  has  but  few  superiors.  I  do  not  hear  him 
after  the  first  week  in  July. 

While  sitting  on  this  soft-cushioned  log,  tasting 
the  pungent  acidulous  wood-sorrel  ( Oxalis  acetcllosa), 
the  blossoms  of  which,  large  and  pink-veined,  rise 
everywhere  above  the  moss,  a  rufous-colored  bird 
flies  quickly  past,  and,  alighting  on  a  low  limb  a  few 
rods  off,  salutes  me  with  "  Whew !  Whew  !  "  or 
"  Whoit !  Whoit !  "  almost  as  you  would  whistle  for 
your  dog.  I  see  by  his  impulsive,  graceful  move- 
ments, and  his  dimly  speckled  breast,  that  it  is  a 
thrush.  Presently  he  utters  a  few  soft,  mellow,  flute- 


IX   THE   HEMLOCKS.  57 

like  notes,  one  of  the  most  simple  expressions  of  mel- 
ody to  be  heard,  and  scuds  away,  and  I  see  it  is  the 
veery,  or  Wilson's  Uirush.  He  is  the  least  of  the 
thru-lies  in  size,  being  about  that  of  the  common 
bluebird,  and  he  may  be  distinguished  from  his  rela- 
tives by  the  dimness  of  the  spots  upon  his  breast. 
The  wood-thrush  has  very  clear,  distinct  oval  spots 
on  a  white  ground  ;  in  the  hermit,  the  spots  run  more 
into  lines,  on  a  ground  of  a  faint  bluish-white  ;  in 
veery,  the  marks  are  almost  obsolete,  and  a  few  rods 
off  his  breast  presents  only  a  dull  yellowish  appear- 
ance. To  get  a  good  view  of  him  you  have  only  to 
git  down  in  his  haunts,  as  in  such  cases  he  seems 
equally  anxious  to  get  a  good  view  of  you. 

From  those  tall  hemlocks  proceeds  a  very  fine 
insect-like  warble,  and  occasionally  I  see  a  spray 
tremble,  or  catch  the  flit  of  a  wing.  I  watch  and 
watch  till  my  head  grows  dizzy  and  my  neck  is  in 
danger  of  permanent  displacement,  and  still  do  not 
get  a  good  view.  Presently  the  bird  darts,  or,  as  it 
seems,  fulls  down  a  few  feet  in  pursuit  of  a  fly  or  a 
ninth,  and  I  see  the  whole  of  it.  but  in  the  dim  light 
am  undecided.  It  is  for  such  emergencies  that  I  have 
brought  my  gun.  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  half 
a  dozen  in  the  bush,  even  for  ornithological  purposes ; 
and  no  sure  and  rapid  progress  can  be  made  in  the 
study  without  taking  life,  without  procuring  speci- 
mens. This  bird  is  a  warbler,  plainly  enough,  from 
his  habits  and  manner ;  but  what  kind  of  warbler  ? 
Look  on  him  and  name  him :  a  deep  orange  or  flame- 


58  IN   THE   HEMLOCKS. 

colored  throat  and  breast;  the  same  color  showing 
also  in  a  line  over  the  eye  and  in  his  crown  ;  back 
variegated  black  and  white.  The  female  is  less 
marked  and  brilliant.  The  orange-throated  warbler 
would  seem  to  be  his  right  name,  his  characteristic 
cognomen  ;  but  no,  he  is  doomed  to  wear  the  name 
of  some  discoverer,  perhaps  the  first  who  robbed  his 
nest  or  rifled  him  of  his  mate,  —  Blackburn  ;  hence, 
Blackburnian  warbler.  The  burn  seems  appropriate 
enough,  for  in  these  dark  evergreens  his  throat  and 
breast  show  like  flame.  He  has  a  very  fine  warble, 
suggesting  that  of  the  redstart,  but  not  especially 
musical.  I  find  him  in  no  other  woods  in  this  vi- 
cinity. 

I  am  attracted  by  another  warble  in  the  same 
locality,  and  experience  a  like  difficulty  in  getting  a 
good  view  of  the  author  of  it.  It  is  quite  a  noticeable 
strain,  sharp  and  sibilant,  and  sounds  well  amid  the 
old  trees.  In  the  upland  woods  of  beech  and  maple 
it  is  a  more  familiar  sound  than  in  these  solitudes. 
On  taking  the  bird  in  hand,  one  cannot  help  exclaim- 
ing, "  How  beautiful !  "  So  tiny  and  elegant,  the 
smallest  of  the  warblers  ;  a  delicate  blue  back,  with 
a  slight  bronze-colored  triangular  spot  between  the 
shoulders ;  upper  mandible  black ;  lower  mandible 
yellow  as  gold ;  throat  yellow,  becoming  a  dark 
bronze  on  the  breast.  Blue  yellow-back  he  is  called, 
though  the  yellow  is  much  nearer  a  bronze.  He  is 
remarkably  delicate  and  beautiful,  —  the  handsomest 
as  he  is  the  smallest  of  the  warblers  known  to  me. 


IN   THE   HEMLOCKS.  59 

It  is  never  without  surprise  that  I  find  amid  these 
rugged,  savage  aspects  of  Nature  creatures  so  fairy 
and  delicate.  But  such  is  the  law.  Go  to  the  sea 
or  climb  the  mountain,  and  with  the  ruggedest  and 
the  savagest  you  will  find  likewise  the  fairest  and  the 
most  delicate.  The  greatness  and  the  minuteness  of 
Nature  pass  all  understanding. 

Ever  since  I  entered  the  woods,  even  while  listen- 
ing to  the  lesser  songsters,  or  contemplating  the  silent 
forms  about  me,  a  strain  has  reached  my  euro  from 
out  the  depths  of  the  forest  that  to  me  is  the  finest 
sound  in  nature,  —  the  song  of  the  hermit-thrush.  I 
often  hear  him  thus  a  long  way  off,  sometimes  over  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away,  when  only  the  stronger  and 
more  perfect  parts  of  his  music  reach  me ;  and 
through  the  general  chorus  of  wrens  and  warblers 
I  detect  this  sound  rising  pure  and  serene,  as  if  a 
spirit  from  some  remote  height  were  slowly  chanting 
a  divine  accompaniment.  This  song  appeals  to  the 
sentiment  of  the  beautiful  in  me,  and  suggests  a  se- 
rene religious  beatitude  as  no  other  sound  in  nature 
does.  It  is  perhaps  more  of  an  evening  than  a  morn- 
ing hymn,  though  I  hear  it  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 
It  is  very  simple,  and  I  can  hardly  tell  the  secret  of 
its  charm.  "  O  spheral,  spheral !  "  he  seems  to  say  ; 
"  O  holy,  holy !  O  clear  away,  clear  away !  O  clear 
up,  clear  up !  "  interspersed  with  the  finest  trills  and 
the  most  delicate  preludes.  It  is  not  a  proud,  gor- 
geous strain,  like  the  tanager's  or  the  grossbeak's  ; 
suggests  no  passion  or  emotion,  —  nothing  personal, 


60  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

but  seems  to  be  the  voice  of  that  calm  sweet  so- 
lemnity one  attains  to  in  his  best  moments.  It  real- 
izes a  peace  and  a  deep  solemn  joy  that  only  the 
finest  souls  may  know.  A  few  nights  ago  I  ascended 
a  mountain  to  see  the  world  by  moonlight ;  and  when 
near  the  summit  the  hermit  commenced  his  evening 
hymn  a  few  rods  from  me.  Listening  to  this  strain  on 
the  lone  mountain,  with  the  full  moon  just  rounded 
from  the  horizon,  the  pomp  of  your  cities  and  the 
pride  of  your  civilization  seemed  trivial  and  cheap. 

I  have  seldom  known  two  of  these  birds  to  be  sing- 
ing at  the  same  time  in  the  same  locality,  rivaling 
each  other,  like  the  wood-thrush  or  the  veery.  Shoot- 
ing one  from  a  tree,  I  have  observed  another  take  up 
the  strain  from  almost  the  identical  perch  in  less  than 
ten  minutes  afterward.  Later  in  the  day  when  I 
had  penetrated  the  heart  of  the  old  "  Barkpeeling,"  I 
came  suddenly  upon  one  singing  from  a  low  stump, 
and  for  a  wonder  he  did  not  seem  alarmed,  but  lifted 
up  his  divine  voice  as  if  his  privacy  was  undisturbed. 
I  open  his  beak  and  find  the  inside  yellow  as  gold. 
I  was  prepared  to  find  it  inlaid  with  pearls  and  dia- 
monds, or  to  see  an  angel  issue  from  it. 

He  is  not  much  in  the  books.  Indeed,  I  am  ac- 
quainted with  scarcely  any  writer  on  ornithology 
whose  head  is  not  muddled  on  the  subject  of  our 
three  prevailing  song-thrushes,  confounding  either 
their  figures  or  their  songs.  A  writer  in  the  "  At- 
lantic"1 gravely  tells  us  the  wood-thrush  is  some- 
1  For  December,  1858. 


IN   THE   HEMLOCKS.  61 

times  called  the  hermit,  and  then,  after  describing 
the  song  of  the  hermit  witli  great  beauty  and  cor- 
rectness, coolly  ascribes  it  to  the  veery !  The  new 
Cyclopaedia,  fresh  from  the  study  of  Audubon,  says 
the  hermit's  song  consists  of  a  single  plaintive  note, 
and  that  the  veery's  resembles  that  of  the  wood- 
thrush  !  These  observations  deserve  to  be  preserved 
with  that  of  the  author  of  "  Out-door  Papers,"  who 
tells  us  the  trill  of  the  hair-bird  (Fringillla  socialis) 
is  produced  by  the  bird  fluttering  its  wings  upon  its 
sides !  The  hermit-thrush  may  be  easily  identified 
by  his  color :  his  back  being  a  clear  olive-brown  be- 
coming rufous  on  his  rump  and  tail.  A  quill  from  his 
wing  placed  beside  one  from  his  tail  on  a  dark  ground 
presents  quite  a  marked  contrast. 

I  walk  along  the  old  road,  and  note  the  tracks  in 
the  thin  layer  of  mud.  When  do  these  creatures 
travel  here  ?  I  have  never  yet  chanced  to  meet  one. 
Here  a  partridge  has  set  its  foot ;  there,  a  woodcock  ; 
here,  a  squirrel  or  mink  :  there,  a  skunk  ;  there,  a 
fox.  What  a  clear,  nervous  track  reynard  makes  ! 
how  easy  to  distinguish  it  from  that  of  a  little  dog, — 
it  is  so  sharply  cut  and  defined  !  A  dog's  track  is 
coarse  and  clumsy  beside  it.  There  is  as  much  wild- 
ness  in  the  track  of  an  animal  as  in  its  voice.  Is  a 
deer's  track  like  a  sheep's  or  a  goat's  ?  What  winged- 
tcM>r.-'l  fleetness  and  agility  may  be  inferred  from  the 
sharp,  braided  track  of  the  gray  squirrel  upon  the 
new  snow  !  Ah !  in  nature  is  the  best  discipline. 
II.i\v  wood-life  sharpens  the  senses,  giving  a  new 


62  IN   THE   HEMLOCKS. 

power  to  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  nose !     And  are  not 
the  rarest  and  most  exquisite  songsters  wood-birds  ? 

Everywhere  in  these  solitudes  I  am  greeted  with 
the  pensive,  almost  pathetic  note  of  the  wood-pewee. 
The  pewees  are  the  true  fly-catchers,  and  are  easily 
identified.  They  are  very  characteristic  birds,  have 
strong  family  traits,  and  pugnacious  dispositions. 
They  are  the  least  attractive  or  elegant  birds  of  our 
fields  or  forest.  Sharp-shouldered,  big-headed,  short- 
legged,  of  no  particular  color,  of  little  elegance  in 
flight  or  movement,  with  a  disagreeable  flirt  of  the 
tail,  always  quarreling  with  their  neighbors  and  with 
one  another,  no  birds  are  so  little  calculated  to  excite 
pleasurable  emotions  in  the  beholder,  or  to  become 
objects  of  human  interest  and  affection.  The  king- 
bird is  the  best  dressed  member  of  the  family,  but  he 
is  a  braggart :  and,  though  always  snubbing  his 
neighbors,  is  an  arrant  coward,  and  shows  the  white 
feather  at  the  slightest  display  of  pluck  in  his  antag- 
onist. I  have  seen  him  turn  tail  to  a  swallow,  and 
have  known  the  little  pewee  in  question  to  whip  him 
beautifully.  From  the  great  crested  to  the  little 
green  fly-catcher,  their  ways  and  general  habits  are 
the  same.  Slow  in  flying  from  point  to  point,  they 
yet  have  a  wonderful  quickness,  and  snap  up  the 
fleetest  insects  with  little  apparent  effort.  There  is  a 
constant  play  of  quick,  nervous  movements  under- 
neath their  outer  show  of  calmness  and  stolidity. 
They  do  not  scour  the  limbs  and  trees  like  the  war- 
blers, but,  perched  upon  the  middle  branches,  wait, 


IN   THE   HEMLOCKS.  68 

like  true  hunters,  for  the  game  to  come  along. 
There  is  often  a  very  audible  snap  of  the  beak  as 
they  seize  their  prey. 

The  wood-pewee,  the  prevailing  species  in  this  lo- 
cality, arrests  your  attention  by  his  sweet,  pathetic 
cry.  There  is  room  for  it  also  in  the  deep  woods,  as 
well  as  for  the  more  prolonged  and  elevated  strains. 

Its  relative,  the  phoebe-bird,  builds  an  exquisite 
nest  of  moss  on  the  side  of  some  shelving  cliff  or 
overhanging  rock.  The  other  day,  passing  by  a 
ledge  near  the  top  of  a  mountain  in  a  singularly  des- 
olate locality,  my  eye  rested  upon  one  of  these  struct- 
ures, looking  precisely  as  if  it  grew  there,  so  in 
keeping  was  it  with  the  mossy  character  of  the  rock, 
and  I  have  had  a  growing  affection  for  the  bird  ever 
since.  The  rock  seemed  to  love  the  nest  and  to 
claim  it  as  its  own.  I  said,  what  a  lesson  in  archi- 
tecture is  here  !  Here  is  a  house  that  was  built,  but 
with  such  loving  care  and  such  beautiful  adaptation 
of  the  means  to  the  end,  that  it  looks  like  a  product 
of  nature.  The  same  wise  economy  is  noticeable  in 
the  nests  of  all  birds.  No  bird  would  paint  its 
house  white  or  red,  or  add  aught  for  show. 

At  one  point  in  the  grayest,  most  shaggy  part  of 
the  woods,  I  come  suddenly  upon  a  brood  of  screech- 
owls,  full  grown,  sitting  together  upon  a  dry,  moss- 
draped  limb,  but  a  few  feet  from  the  ground.  I 
IKIU-.  within  four  or  five  yards  of  them  and  am  look- 
ing about  me,  when  my  eye  alights  upon  these  gray, 
motionless  figures.  They  sit  perfectly  upright,  some 


64  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

with  their  backs  and  some  with  their  breasts  toward 
me,  but  every  head  turned  squarely  in  my  direction. 
Their  eyes  are  closed  to  a  mere  black  line  ;  through 
this  crack  they  are  watching  me,  evidently  thinking 
themselves  unobserved.  The  spectacle  is  weird  and 
grotesque,  and  suggests  something  impish  and  un- 
canny. It  is  a  new  effect,  the  night  side  of  the 
woods  by  daylight.  After  observing  them  a  moment 
I  take  a  single  step  toward  them,  when,  quick  as 
thought,  their  eyes  fly  wide  open,  their  attitude  is 
changed,  they  bend,  some  this  way,  some  that,  and, 
instinct  with  life  and  motion,  stare  wildly  around 
them.  Another  step,  and  they  all  take  flight  but 
one,  which  stoops  low  on  the  branch,  and  with  the 
look  of  a  frightened  cat  regards  me  for  a  few  seconds 
over  its  shoulder.  They  fly  swiftly  and  softly,  and 
disperse  through  the  trees.  I  shoot  one,  which  is  of 
a  tawny  red  tint,  like  that  figured  by  Wilson,  who 
mistook  a  young  bird  for  an  old  one.  The  old  birds 
are  a  beautiful  ashen  gray  mottled  with  black.  In 
the  present  instance,  they  were  sitting  on  the  branch 
with  the  young. 

Coming  to  a  drier  and  less  mossy  place  in  the 
woods,  I  am  amused  with  the  golden-crowned  thrush, 
—  which,  however,  is  no  thrush  at  all,  but  a  warbler, 
the  Sciurus  aurocapUlus.  He  walks  on  the  ground 
ahead  of  me  with  such  an  easy  gliding  motion,  and 
with  such  an  unconscious,  preoccupied  air,  jerking  his 
head  like  a  hen  or  a  partridge,  now  hurrying,  now 
slackening  his  pace,  that  I  pause  to  observe  him.  If 


IN   THE   HEMLOCKS.  65 

I  sit  down,  he  pauses  to  observe  me,  and  extends  bis 
pretty  rumblings  on  all  sides,  apparently  very  much 
engrossed  with  his  own  affairs,  but  never  losing  sight 
of  me.  But  few  of  the  birds  are  walkers,  most  being 
hoppers,  like  the  robin. 

Satisfied  that  I  have  no  hostile  intentions,  the 
pretty  pedestrian  mounts  a  limb  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  gives  me  the  benefit  of  one  of  his  musi- 
cal performances,  a  sort  of  accelerating  chant.  Com- 
mencing in  a  very  low  key,  which  makes  him  seem 
at  a  very  uncertain  distance,  he  grows  louder  and 
louder,  till  his  body  quakes  and  his  chant  runs  into  a 
shriek,  ringing  in  my  ear  with  a  peculiar  sharpness. 
This  lay  may  be  represented  thus :  •*  Teacher  teacher, 
TEACHER,  TEACHER,  TEACHER!"  —  the  ac- 
cent on  the  first  syllable  and  each  word  uttered  with 
increased  force  and  shrillness.  No  writer  with  whom 
I  am  acquainted  gives  him  credit  for  more  musical 
ability  than  is  displayed  in  this  strain.  Yet  in  this 
the  half  is  not  told.  He  has  a  for  rarer  song,  which 
he  reserves  for  some  nymph  whom  he  meets  in  the 
air.  Mounting  by  easy  flights  to  the  top  of  the  tall- 
est tree,  he  launches  into  the  air  with  a  sort  of  sus- 
pended, hovering  flight,  like  certain  of  the  finches, 
and  hursts  into  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  song,  —  clear, 
rin^in^,  copious,  rivaling  the  goldfinch's  in  vivacity, 
aii-l  tin-  linnet's  in  melody.  This  strain  is  one  of  the 
rarest  biu  of  bird-melody  to  be  heard,  and  is  oftenest 
indulged  in  late  in  the  afternoon  or  after  sundown. 
Over  the  woods,  hid  from  view,  the  ecstatic  singer 

5 


66  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

warbles  his  finest  strain.  In  this  song  you  instantly 
detect  his  relationship  to  the  water-wagtail  (Sciwus 
noveboracensis)  — ^erroneously  called  water-thrush, — 
whose  song  is  likewise  a  sudden  burst,  full  and  ring- 
ing, and  with  a  tone  of  youthful  joyousness  in  it,  as 
if  the  bird  had  just  had  some  unexpected  good  fort- 
une. For  nearly  two  years  this  strain  of  the  pretty 
walker  was  little  more  than  a  disembodied  voice  to 
me,  and  I  was  puzzled  by  it  as  Thoreau  by  his  mys- 
terious night-warbler,  which,  by  the  way,  I  suspect 
was  no  new  bird  at  all,  but  one  he  was  otherwise 
familiar  with.  The  little  bird  himself  seems  disposed 
to  keep  the  matter  a  secret,  and  improves  every  op- 
portunity to  repeat  before  you  his  shrill,  accelerat- 
ing lay,  as  if  this  were  quite  enough  and  all  he  laid 
claim  to.  Still,  I  trust  I  am  betraying  no  confidence 
in  making  the  matter  public  here.  I  think  this  is 
preeminently  his  love-song,  as  I  hear  it  oftenest 
about  the  mating  season.  I  have  caught  half-sup- 
pressed bursts  of  it  from  two  males  chasing  each 
other  with  fearful  speed  through  the  forest. 

Turning  to  the  left  from  the  old  road,  I  wander 
over  soft  logs  and  gray  yielding  debris,  across  the 
little  trout  brook,  until  I  emerge  in  the  overgrown 
"  Barkpeeling,"  —  pausing  now  and  then  on  the  way 
to  admire  a  small,  solitary  white  flower  which  rises 
above  the  moss,  with  radical,  heart-shaped  leaves,  and 
a  blossom  precisely  like  the  liverwort  except  in  color, 
but  which  is  not  put  down  in  my  botany, — or  to  ob- 
serve the  ferns,  of  which  I  count  six  varieties,  some 
gigantic  ones  nearly  shoulder-high. 


IN    THE   HEMLOCKS.  67 

At  the  foot  of  a  rough,  scraggy  yellow  birch,  on  a 
bank  of  club-moss,  so  richly  inlaid  with  partridge- 
berry  and  curious  shining  leaves,  —  with  here  and 
there  in  the  bordering  a  spire  of  the  false  wintergrecn 
(Pyrola  rotundifolia)  strung  with  faint  pink  flowers 
and  exhaling  the  breath  of  a  May  orchard,  —  that  it 
looks  too  costly  a  couch  for  such  an  idler,  I  recline  to 
note  what  transpires.  The  sun  is  just  past  the  me- 
ridian, and  the  afternoon  chorus  is  not  yet  in  full 
tune.  Most  birds  sing  with  the  greatest  spirit  and 
vivacity  in  the  forenoon,  though  there  are  occasional 
l>iir-H  later  in  the  day,  in  which  nearly  all  voices 
join;  while  it  is  not  till  the  twilight  that  the  full 
power  and  solemnity  of  the  thrush's  hymn  is  felt. 

My  attention  is  soon  arrested  by  a  pair  of  hum- 
ming-birds, the  ruby-throated,  disporting  themselves 
in  a  low  bush  a  few  yards  from  me.  The  female 
takes  shelter  amid  the  branches,  and  squeaks  exult- 
ingly  as  the  male,  circling  above,  dives  down  as  if  to 
dislodge  her.  Seeing  me,  he  drops  like  a  feather  on 
a  slender  twig,  and  in  a  moment  both  are  gone. 
Then,  as  if  by  a  preconcerted  signal,  the  throats  are 
all  a  tune.  I  lie  on  my  back  with  eyes  half  closed, 
and  analyze  the  chorus  of  warblers,  thrushes,  finches, 
and  fly-catchers ;  while,  soaring  above  all,  a  little 
withdrawn  and  alone,  rises  the  divine  soprano  of  the 
hermit.  That  richly  modulated  warble  proceeding 
from  the  top  of  yonder  birch,  and  which  un practiced 
ears  would  mistake  for  the  voice  of  the  scarlet  tauager, 
comes  from  that  rare  visitant,  the  rose-breasted  gross- 


68  IN   THE    HEMLOCKS. 

beak.  It  is  a  strong,  vivacious  strain,  a  bright  noon- 
day song,  full  of  health  and  assurance,  indicating  fine 
talents  in  the  performer,  but  not  genius.  As  I  come 
up  under  the  tree  he  casts  his  eye  down  at  me,  but 
continues  his  song.  This  bird  is  said  to  be  quite  com- 
mon in  the  Northwest,  but  he  is  rare  in  the  Eastern 
districts.  His  beak  is  disproportionately  large  and 
heavy,  like  a  huge  nose,  which  slightly  mars  his  good 
looks  ;  but  Nature  has  made  it  up  to  him  in  a  blush 
rose  upon  his  breast,  and  the  most  delicate  of  pink 
linings  to  the  under  side  of  his  wings.  His  back  is 
variegated  black  and  white,  and  when  flying  low  the 
white  shows  conspicuously.  If  he  passed  over  your 
head,  you  would  note  the  delicate  flush  under  his 
wings. 

That  bit  of  bright  scarlet  on  yonder  dead  hemlock, 
glowing  like  a  live  coal  against  the  dark  background, 
seeming  almost  too  brilliant  for  the  severe  northern 
climate,  is  his  relative,  the  scarlet  tanager.  I  occa- 
sionally meet  him  in  the  deep  hemlocks,  and  know 
no  stronger  contrast  in  nature.  I  almost  fear  he  will 
kindle  the  dry  limb  on  which  he  alights.  He  is  quite 
a  solitary  bird,  and  in  this  section  seems  to  prefer  the 
high,  remote  woods,  even  going  quite  to  the  mount- 
ain's top.  Indeed,  the  event  of  my  last  visit  to  the 
mountain  was  meeting  one  of  these  brilliant  creatures 
near  the  summit,  in  full  song.  The  breeze  carried 
the  notes  far  and  wide.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  the  ele- 
vation, and  I  imagined  his  song  had  more  scope  and 
freedom  than  usual.  When  he  had  flown  far  down 


IN   THK    HKMI.n  69 

the  mountain-side,  the  breeze  still  brought  me  his 
finest  notes.  In  plumage  he  is  the  most  brilliant  bird 
we  have.  The  bluebird  is  not  entirely  blue ;  nor  will 
the  indigo-bird  bear  a  close  inspection,  nor  the  gold- 
tim-li.  nor  the  summer  redbird.  But  the  tanager  loses 
nothing  by  a  near  view;  the  deep  scarlet  of  his  body 
ami  tin-  black  of  his  wings  and  tail  are  quite  perfect. 
This  is  his  holiday  suit ;  in  the  fall  he  becomes  a  dull 
yellowish-green,  —  the  color  of  the  female  the  whole 
season. 

One  of  the  leading  songsters  in  this  choir  of  the 
old  Barkpceling  is  the  purple  finch  or  linnet.  He 
sits  somewhat  apart,  usually  on  a  dead  hemlock,  and 
warbles  most  exquisitely.  He  is  one  of  our  finest 
songsters,  and  stands  at  the  head  of  the  finches,  as 
the  hermit  at  the  head  of  the  thrushes.  His  song 
approaches  an  ecstasy,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the 
winter- wren's,  is  the  most  rapid  and  copious  strain  to 
be  heard  in  these  woods.  It  is  quite  destitute  of  the 
trills  and  the  liquid,  silvery,  bubbling  notes  that  char- 
actrri/e  the  wren's  ;  but  there  runs  through  it  a 
round,  richly  modulated  whistle,  very  sweet  and  very 
pleasing.  The  call  of  the  robin  is  brought  in  at  a 
certain  point  with  marked  effect,  and,  throughout, 
tin-  variety  is  so  great  and  the  strain  so  rapid  that 
tin-  impression  is  as  of  two  or  three  birds  singing  at 
the  same  time.  He  is  not  common  here,  and  I  only 
find  him  in  these  or  similar  woods.  His  color  is  pe- 
culiar, and  looks  as  if  it  might  have  been  imparted 
by  dipping  a  brown  bird  in  diluted  pokeberry  juice. 


70  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

Two  or  three  more  clippings  would  have  made  the 
purple  complete.  The  female  is  the  color  of  the 
song  sparrow,  a  little  larger,  with  heavier  beak,  and 
tail  much  more  forked. 

In  a  little  opening  quite  free  from  brush  and  trees, 
I  step  down  to  bathe  my  hands  in  the  brook,  when  a 
small,  light  slate-colored  bird  flutters  out  of  the  bank, 
not  three  feet  from  my  head,  as  I  stoop  down,  and, 
as  if  severely  lamed  or  injured,  flutters  through  the 
grass  and  into  the  nearest  bush.  As  I  do  not  follow^ 
but  remain  near  the  nest,  she  chips  sharply,  which 
brings  the  male,  and  I  see  it  is  the  speckled  Canada 
warbler.  I  find  no  authority  in  the  books  for  this 
bird  to  build  upon  the  ground,  yet  here  is  the  nest, 
made  chiefly  of  dry  grass,  set  in  a  slight  excavation 
in  the  bank,  riot  two  feet  from  the  water,  and  looking 
a  little  perilous  to  anything  but  ducklings  or  sand- 
pipers. There  are  two  young  birds  and  one  little 
speckled  egg,  just  pipped.  But  how  is  this  ?  what 
mystery  is  here?  One  nestling  is  much  larger  than 
the  other,  monopolizes  most  of  the  nest,  and  lifts  its 
open  mouth  far  above  that  of  its  companion,  though 
obviously  both  are  of  the  same  age,  not  more  than  a 
day  old.  Ah  !  I  see  ;  the  old  trick  of  the  cow-bunt- 
ing, with  a  stinging  human  significance.  Taking  the 
interloper  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  I  deliberately 
drop  it  into  the  water,  but  not  without  a  pang,  as  I 
see  its  naked  form,  convulsed  with  chills,  float  down 
stream.  Cruel  ?  So  is  Nature  cruel.  I  take  one 
life  to  save  two.  fn  less  than  two  days  this  pot- 


IX    THK    Hi.MI.OCKS.  71 

bellie<l  intruder  would  have  caused  the  death  of  the 
two  rightful  occupants  of  the  nest ;  so  I  step  in  and 
turn  things  into  their  proper  channel  again. 

It  i>  a  singular  freak  of  Nature,  this  instinct  which 
prompts  one  bird  to  lay  its  eggs  in  the  nests  of  others, 
ami  thus  shirk  the  responsibility  of  rearing  its  own 
young.  The  cow-buntings  always  resort  to  this  cun- 
ning trick  ;  and  when  one  reflects  upon  their  nunilx-i  s 
it  is  evident  that  these  little  tragedies  are  quite  fre- 
quent. In  Europe  the  parallel  case  is  that  of  the 
cuckoo,  and  occasionally  our  own  cuckoo  imposes 
upon  a  robin  or  a  thrush  in  the  same  manner.  The 
cow-bunting  seems  to  have  no  conscience  about  the 
matter,  and,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  invariably 
selects  the  nest  of  a  bird  smaller  than  itself.  Its  egg 
is  usually  the  first  to  hatch  ;  its  young  overreaches  all 
the  rest  when  food  is  brought ;  it  grows  with  great 
rapidity,  spreads  and  fills  the  nest,  and  the  starved 
and  crowded  occupants  soon  perish,  when  the  parent 
bird  removes  their  dead  bodies,  giving  its  whole 
energy  and  care  to  the  foster-child. 

The  warblers  and  smaller  fly-catchers  are  generally 
the  sufferers,  though  I  sometimes  see  the  slate- 
colored  snow-bird  unconsciously  duped  in  like  man- 
ner ;  and  the  other  day,  in  a  tall  tree  in  the  woods,  I 
discovered  the  black-throated  green-backed  warbler 
devoting  itself  to  this  dusky,  overgrown  foundling. 
An  old  fanner  to  whom  I  pointed  out  the  fact  was 
nmdi  surprised  that  such  things  should  happeu  in  his 
woods  without  his  knowledge. 


72  IN   THE   HEMLOCKS. 

These  birds  may  be  seen  prowling  through  all 
parts  of  the  woods  at  this  season,  watching  for  an 
opportunity  to  steal  their  egg  into  some  nest.  One 
day  while  sitting  on  a  log  I  saw  one  moving  by 
short  flights  through  the  trees  and  gradually  near- 
ing  the  ground.  Its  movements  were  hurried  and 
stealthy.  About  fifty  yards  from  me  it  disappeared 
behind  some  low  brush  and  had  evidently  alighted 
upon  the  ground. 

After  waiting  a  few  moments  I  cautiously  walked 
in  the  direction.  When  about  halfway  I  accidentally 
made  a  slight  noise,  when  the  bird  flew  up,  and  see- 
ing me  hurried  off  out  of  the  woods.  Arrived  at  the 
place,  I  found  a  simple  nest  of  dry  grass  and  leaves 
partially  concealed  under  a  prostrate  branch.  I  took 
it  to  be  the  nest  of  a  sparrow.  There  were  three 
eggs  in  the  nest  and  one  lying  about  a  foot  below  it 
as  if  it  had  been  rolled  out,  as  of  course  it  had.  It 
suggested  the  thought  that  perhaps  when  the  cow- 
bird  finds  the  full  complement  of  eggs  in  a  nest,  it 
throws  out  one  and  deposits  its  own  instead.  I  re- 
visited the  nest  a  few  days  afterward  and  found  an 
egg  again  cast  out,  but  none  had  been  put  in  its  place. 
The  nest  had  been  abandoned  by  its  owner  and  the 
eggs  were  stale. 

In  all  cases  where  I  have  found  this  ogg,  I  have 
observed  both  male  and  female  of  the  cow-bird  linger- 
ing near,  the  former  uttering  his  peculiar  liquid,  glassy 
note  from  the  tops  of  the  trees. 

In  July  the  young,  which  have  been  reared  in  the 


IN    THK    IIK.MI.o.  73 

same  neighborhood,  and  which  are  now  of  a  dull  fawn 
color,  begin  to  collect  in  small  flocks,  which  grow  to 
be  quite  large  in  autumn. 

The  speckled  Canada  is  a  very  superior  warbler, 
having  a  lively,  animated  strain,  reminding  you  of 
certain  parts  of  the  canary's  though  quite  broken  and 
incomplete  ;  the  bird,  the  while  hopping  amid  the 
branches  with  increased  liveliness,  and  indulging  in 
fine  sibilant  chirps,  too  happy  to  keep  silent. 

His  manners  are  quite  marked.  He  has  a  habit  of 
courtesying  when  he  discovers  you,  which  is  very 
pretty.  In  form  he  is  an  elegant  bird,  somewhat 
slender,  his  back  of  a  bluish  lead-color  becoming 
nearly  black  on  his  crown  :  the  under  part  of  his 
body,  from  his  throat  down,  is  of  a  light,  delicate  yel- 
low, with  a  belt  of  black  dots  across  his  breast  He 
has  a  fine  eye,  surrounded  by  a  light-yellow  ring. 

The  parent  birds  are  much  disturbed  by  my  pres- 
ence, and  keep  up  a  loud  emphatic  chirping,  which 
attracts  the  attention  of  their  sympathetic  neighbors, 
and  one  after  another  they  come  to  see  what  lias  hap- 
pened. The  chestnut-sided  and  the  lilackburnian 
come  in  company.  The  black-and-yellow  warbler 
pan-.--;  a  moment  and  hastens  away;  the  Maryland 
\rllo\v-throat  peeps  shyly  from  the  lower  bushes  and 
utters  his  "Kip!  lip!"  in  sympathy;  the  wood- 
pewee  comes  straight  to  the  tree  overhead,  and  the 
red-eyed  vireo  lingers  and  lingers,  eying  me  with  a 
curious,  innocent  look,  evidently  much  puzzled.  But 
all  disappear  again,  one  by  one,  apparently  without  a 


74  IN   THE   HEMLOCKS. 

word  of  condolence  or  encouragement  to  the  dis- 
tressed pair.  I  have  often  noticed  among  birds  this 
show  of  sympathy,  —  if  indeed  it  be  sympathy,  and 
not  merely  curiosity,  or  desire  to  be  forewarned  of 
the  approach  of  a  common  danger. 

An  hour  afterward  I  approach  the  place,  find  all 
still,  and  the  mother  bird  upon  the  nest.  As  I  draw 
near  she  seems  to  sit  closer,  her  eyes  growing  large 
with  an  inexpressibly  wild,  beautiful  look.  She 
keeps  her  place  till  I  am  within  two  paces  of  her, 
when  she  flutters  away  as  at  first.  In  the  brief  in- 
terval the  remaining  egg  has  hatched,  and  the  two 
little  nestlings  lift  their  heads  without  being  jostled 
or  overreached  by  any  strange  bedfellow.  A  week 
afterward  and  they  were  flown  away,  —  so  brief  is 
the  infancy  of  birds.  And  the  wonder  is  that  they 
escape,  even  for  this  short  time,  the  skunks  and 
minks  and  muskrats  that  abound  here,  and  that  have 
a  decided  partiality  for  such  tidbits. 

I  pass  on  through  the  old  Barkpeeling,  now 
threading  an  obscure  cow-path  or  an  overgrown 
wood-road  ;  now  clambering  over  soft  and  decayed 
logs,  or  forcing  my  way  through  a  net-work  of  briers 
and  hazels  ;  now  entering  a  perfect  bower  of  wild- 
cherry,  beech,  and  soft-maple  ;  now  emerging  into  a 
little  grassy  lane,  golden  with  buttercups  or  white 
with  daisies,  or  wading  waist-deep  in  the  red  rasp- 
berry-bushes. 

Whir!  whir!  whir!  and  a  brood  of  half-grown 
partridges  start  up  like  an  explosion,  a  few  paces 


IX   THE   HEMLOCKS.  75 

from  me,  and,  scattering,  disappear  in  the  bushes  on 
all  sides.  Let  me  sit  down  here  behind  the  screen 
of  ferns  and  briers,  and  hear  this  wild-hen  of  the 
woods  call  together  her  brood.  At  what  an  early 
age  the  partridge  flies !  Nature  seems  to  concen- 
trate her  energies  on  the  wing,  making  the  safety  of 
the  bird  a  point  to  be  looked  after  first;  and  while 
the  body  is  covered  with  down,  and  no  signs  of  feath- 
ers are  visible,  the  wing-quills  sprout  and  unfold,  and 
in  an  incredibly  short  time  the  young  make  fair  head- 
way in  flying. 

The  same  rapid  development  of  wing  may  be  ob- 
served in  chickens  and  turkeys,  but  not  in  water- 
fowls, nor  in  birds  that  are  safely  housed  in  the  nest 
till  full-fledged.  The  other  day,  by  a  brook,  I  came 
suddenly  upon  a  young  sandpiper,  a  most  beautiful 
creature,  enveloped  in  a  soft  gray  down,  swift  and 
nimble  and  apparently  a  week  or  two  old,  but  with 
no  signs  of  plumage  either  of  body  or  wing.  And 
it  needed  none,  for  it  escaped  me  by  taking  to  the 
water  as  readily  as  if  it  had  flown  with  wings. 

Hark!  there  arises  over  there  in  the  brush  a  soft, 
persuasive  cooing,  a  sound  so  subtle  and  wild  and  un- 
obtrusive that  it  requires  the  most  alert  and  watchful 
ear  to  hear  it.  How  gentle  and  solicitous  and  full  of 
yearning  love !  It  is  the  voice  of  the  mother  hen. 
Presently  a  faint  timid  "  Yeap ! "  which  almost 
eludes  the  ear,  is  heard  in  various  directions, —  the 
yoiinv  responding.  As  no  danger  seems  near,  the 
cooing  of  the  parent  bird  is  soon  a  very  audible 


76  IN   THE   HEMLOCKS. 

clucking  call,  and  the  young  move  cautiously  in  the 
direction.  Let  me  step  never  so  carefully  from  my 
hiding-place,  and  all  sounds  instantly  cease,  and  I 
search  in  vain  for  either  parent  or  young. 

The  partridge  (Bonasa  umbellus)  is  one  of  our 
most  native  and  characteristic  birds.  The  woods 
seem  good  to  be  in  where  I  find  him.  lie  gives  a 
habitable  air  to  the  forest,  and  one  feels  as  if  the 
riffhful  occupant  was  really  at  home.  The  woods 
where  I  do  not  find  him  seem  to  want  something,  as 
if  suffering  from  some  neglect  of  Nature.  And  then 
he  is  such  a  splendid  success,  so  hardy  and  vigorous. 
I  think  he  enjoys  the  cold  and  the  snow.  His  wings 
seem  to  rustle  with  more  fervency  in  midwinter.  If 
the  snow  falls  very  fast,  and  promises  a  heavy  storm, 
he  will  complacently  sit  down  and  allow  himself  to 
be  snowed  under.  Approaching  him  at  such  times, 
he  suddenly  bursts  out  of  the  snow  at  your  feet,  scat- 
tering the  flakes  in  all  directions,  and  goes  humming 
away  through  the  woods  like  a  bomb-shell,  —  a  pict- 
ure of  native  spirit  and  success. 

His  drum  is  one  of  the  most  welcome  and  beauti- 
ful sounds  of  spring.  Scarcely  have  the  trees  ex- 
panded their  buds,  when,  in  the  still  April  mornings, 
or  toward  nightfall,  when  you  hear  the  hum  of  his 
devoted  wings.  He  selects  not,  as  you  would  pre- 
dict, a  dry  and  resinous  log,  but  a  decayed  and 
crumbling  one,  seeming  to  give  the  preference  to  old 
oak-logs  that  are  partially  blended  with  the  soil.  If 
a  log  to  his  taste  cannot  be  found  he  sets  up  his  altar 


IN    THK    HF.MLO  77 

on  a  rock,  which  becomes  resonant  beneath  his  fer- 
vent Mows.  Who  has  seen  the  partridge  drum?  It 
is  the  next  thing  to  catching  a  weasel  asleep,  though 
by  much  caution  and  tact  it  may  be  done.  He  does 
not  hug  the  log,  but  stands  very  erect,  expands  his 
ruff,  gives  two  introductory  blows,  pauses  half  a  sec- 
ond, and  then  resumes,  striking  faster  and  faster  till 
the  sound  becomes  a  continuous,  unbroken  whir,  the 
whole  lasting  less  than  half  a  minute.  The  tips  of 
his  wings  barely  brush  the  log,  so  that  the  sound  is 
produced  rather  by  the  force  of  the  blows  upon  the 
air  and  upon  his  own  body  as  in  flying.  One  log 
will  be  used  for  many  years,  though  not  by  the  same 
drummer.  It  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  temple  and  held 
in  great  respect.  The  bird  always  approaches  on 
foot,  and  leaves  it  in  the  same  quiet  manner,  unless 
rudely  disturbed.  He  is  very  cunning,  though  his 
wit  is  not  profound.  It  is  difficult  to  approach  him 
bv  stealth  ;  you  will  try  many  times  before  succeed- 
ing ;  but  seem  to  pass  by  him  in  a  great  hurry,  mak- 
ing all  the  noise  possible,  and  with  plumage  furled 
he  stands  as  immovable  as  a  knot,  allowing  you  a 
good  view  and  a  good  shot,  if  you  are  a  sportsman. 

Passing  along  one  of  the  old  Barkpeelers'  roads 
which  wander  aimlessly  about,  I  am  attracted  by  a 
singularly  brilliant  and  emphatic  warble,  proceeding 
from  the  low  bushes,  and  quieklv  suggesting  the  voice 
of  tin-  Maryland  yellow-throat.  Presently  the  singer 
hops  up  on  a  dry  twig,  and  gives  me  a  good  view. 
L«-ai  I  -colored  head  and  neck,  becoming  nearly  black 
on  tho  breast;  clear  olive-green  back,  and  yellow 


78  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

belly.  From  his  habit  of  keeping  near  the  ground, 
even  hopping  upon  it  occasionally,  I  know  him  to  be 
a  ground-warbler  ;  from  his  dark  breast  the  ornithol- 
ogist has  added  the  expletive  mourning,  hence  the 
mourning  ground-warbler. 

Of  this  bird  both  Wilson  and  Audubon  confessed 
their  comparative  ignorance,  neither  ever  having  seen 
its  nest  or  become  acquainted  with  its  haunts  and 
general  habits.  Its  song  is  quite  striking  and  novel, 
though  its  voice  at  once  suggests  the  class  of  warblers 
to  which  it  belongs.  It  is  very  shy  and  wary,  flying 
but  a  few  feet  at  a  time,  and  studiously  concealing 
itself  from  your  view.  I  discover  but  one  pair  here. 
The  female  has  food  in  her  beak,  but  carefully  avoids 
betraying  the  locality  of  her  nest.  The  ground-war- 
blers all  have  one  notable  feature,  —  very  beautiful 
legs,  as  white  and  delicate  as  if  they  had  always  worn 
silk  stockings  and  satin  slippers.  High  tree  warblers 
have  dark-brown  or  black  legs  and  more  brilliant 
plumage,  but  less  musical  ability. 

The  chestnut-sided  belongs  to  the  latter  class.  He 
is  quite  common  in  these  woods,  as  in  all  the  woods 
about.  He  is  one  of  the  rarest  and  handsomest  of  the 
warblers ;  his  white  breast  and  throat,  chestnut  sides, 
and  yellow  crown  show  conspicuously.  But  little  is 
known  of  his  habits  or  haunts.  Last  year  I  found 
the  nest  of  one  in  an  uplying  beech-wood,  in  a  low 
bush  near  the  road-side,  where  cows  passed  and 
browsed  daily.  Things  went  on  smoothly  till  the 
cow-bunting  stole  her  egg  into  it,  when  other  mishaps 
followed,  and  the  nest  was  soon  empty.  A  character- 


IN  THE   HEMLOCKS.  79 

i.stic  attitude  of  the  male  during  this  season  is  a  slight 
drooping  of  the  wings,  and  tail  a  little  elevated,  which 
gives  him  a  very  smart,  bantam-like  appearance.  His 
song  is  fine  and  hurried,  and  not  much  of  itself,  but 
has  its  place  in  the  general  chorus. 

A  far  sweeter  strain,  falling  on  the  ear  with  the 
true  sylvan  cadence,  is  that  of  the  black-throated 
green-backed  warbler,  whom  I  meet  at  various  points. 
He  has  no  superiors  among  the  true  Sylvia.  His 
song  is  very  plain  and  simple,  but  remarkably  pure 
and  tender,  and  might  be  indicated  by  straight  lines, 
thus, —  —  v  ;  the  first  two  marks  repre- 

senting two  sweet,  silvery  notes,  in  the  same  pitch  of 
voice,  and  quite  unaccented  ;  the  latter  marks,  the 
concluding  notes,  wherein  the  tone  and  inflection  are 
changed.  The  throat  and  breast  of  the  male  are  a 
rich  black  like  velvet,  his  face  yellow,  and  his  back  a 
yellowish  green. 

Beyond  the  Barkpeeling,  where  the  woods  are 
mingled  hemlock,  beech,  and  birch,  the  languid  mid- 
summer note  of  the  black-throated  blue-back  falls  on 
my  ear.  "  Twea,  twea,  twea-e-e !  "  in  the  upward 
slide,  and  with  the  peculiar  c-///y  of  summer  insects, 
but  not  destitute  of  a  certain  plaintive  cadence.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  languid,  unhurried  sounds  in  all 
the  woods.  I  feel  like  reclining  upon  the  dry  leaves 
at  once.  Audubon  says  he  has  never  heard  his  love- 
song  ;  but  this  is  all  the  love-song  he  has,  and  he  is 
evidently  a  very  plain  hero  with  his  little  brown  mis- 
tress. He  assumes  few  attitudes,  and  is  not  a  bold 
and  -Miking  gymnast,  like  many  of  his  kindred.  He 


80  IN    THE   HEMLOCKS. 

has  a  preference  for  dense  woods  of  beech  and  maple, 
moves  slowly  amid  the  lower  branches  and  smaller 
growths,  keeping  from  eight  to  ten  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  repeating  now  and  then  his  listless,  indo- 
lent strain.  His  back  and  crown  are  dark  blue  ;  his 
throat  and  breast,  black  ;  his  belly,  pure  white ;  and 
he  has  a  white  spot  on  each  wing. 

Here  and  there  I  meet  the  black  and  white  creep- 
ing-warbler, whose  fine  strain  reminds  me  of  hair- 
wire.  It  is  unquestionably  the  finest  bird-song  to  be 
heard.  Few  insect  strains  will  compare  with  it  in 
this  respect ;  while  it  has  none  of  the  harsh,  brassy 
character  of  the  latter,  being  very  delicate  and  tender. 

That  sharp,  uninterrupted,  but  still  continued  war- 
ble, which,  before  one  has  learned  to  discriminate 
closely,  he  is  apt  to  confound  with  the  red-eyed  vireo's, 
is  that  of  the  solitary  warbling  vireo,  —  a  bird  slightly 
larger,  much  rarer,  and  with  a  louder,  less  cheerful 
and  happy  strain.  I  see  him  hopping  along  length- 
wise of  the  limbs,  and  note  the  orange  tinge  of  his 
breast  and  sides  and  the  white  circle  around  his  eye. 

But  the  declining  sun  and  the  deepening  shadows 
admonish  me  that  this  ramble  must  be  brought  to  a 
close,  even  though  only  the  leading  characters  in  this 
chorus  of  forty  songsters  have  been  described,  and 
only  a  small  portion  of  the  venerable  old  woods  ex- 
plored. In  a  secluded  swampy  corner  of  the  old 
Barkpeeling,  where  I  find  the  great  purple  orchis  in 
bloom,  and  where  the  foot  of  man  or  beast  seems 
never  to  have  trod,  I  linger  long,  contemplating  the 
wonderful  display  of  lichens  and  mosses  that  overrun 


IS   THE   HEMLOCKS.  81 

both  the  smaller  and  the  larger  growths.  Every 
Im-h  and  branch  and  sprig  is  dressed  up  in  the  most 
rich  and  fantastic  of  liveries ;  and,  crowning  all,  the 
long  bearded  moss  festoons  the  branches  or  sways 
gran -fully  from  the  limbs.  Every  twig  looks  a  cent- 
ury old,  though  green  leaves  tip  the  end  of  it.  A 
young  yellow  birch  has  a  venerable,  patriarchal  look, 
and  seems  ill  at  ease  under  such  premature  honors. 
A  decayed  hemlock  is  draped  as  if  by  hands  for  some 
solemn  festival. 

Mounting  toward  the  upland  again,  I  pause  rever- 
ently as  the  hush  and  stillness  of  twilight  come  upon 
the  woods.  It  is  the  sweetest,  ripest  hour  of  the  day. 
And  as  the  hermit's  evening  hymn  goes  up  from  the 
deep  solitude  below  me,  I  experience  that  serene  ex- 
altation of  sentiment  of  which  music,  literature,  and 
religion  are  but  the  faint  types  and  symbols. 


Miryltnd  Y.llow-thro.t. 


ADIRONDAC. 


ADIRONDAC. 

WHEN  I  went  to  the  Adirondacs,  which  was  in 
the  summer  of  1863,  I  was  in  the  first  flush  of  my 
ornithological  studies,  and  was  curious,  above  all  else, 
to  know  what  birds  I  should  find  in  these  solitudes 
—  what  new  ones,  and  what  ones  already  known  to 
me. 

In  visiting  vast,  primitive,  far-off  woods  one  natu- 
rally expects  to  lind  something  rare  and  precious,  or 
something  entirely  new,  but  it  commonly  happens 
that  one  is  disappointed.  Thoreau  made  three  excur- 
sions into  the  Maine  woods,  and  though  he  started 
the  moose  and  caribou.  h:id  nothing  more  novel  to 
report  by  way  of  bird  notes,  than  the  songs  of  the 
wood-thrush  and  the  pewee.  This  was  about  my 
own  experience  in  the  Adirondacs.  The  birds  for 
the  most  part  prefer  the  vicinity  of  settlements  and 


86  ADIRONDAC. 

clearings,  and  it  was  at  such  places  that  I  saw  the 
greatest  number  and  variety. 

At  the  clearing  of  an  old  hunter  and  pioneer  by 
the  name  of  Hewett,  where  we  paused  a  couple  of 
days  on  first  entering  the  woods,  I  saw  many  old 
friends  and  made  some  new  acquaintances.  The 
snow-bird  was  very  abundant  here,  as  it  had  been  at 
various  points  along  the  route,  after  leaving  Lake 
George.  As  I  went  out  to  the  spring  in  the  morn- 
ing to  wash  myself  a  purple  finch  flew  up  before  me, 
having  already  performed  its  ablutions.  I  had  first 
observed  this  bird  the  winter  before  in  the  Highlands 
of  the  Hudson,  where,  during  several  clear  but  cold 
February  mornings,  a  troop  of  them  sang  most  charm- 
ingly in  a  tree  in  front  of  my  house.  The  meeting 
with  the  bird  here  in  its  breeding  haunts  was  a  pleas- 
ant surprise.  During  the  day  I  observed  several 
pine  finches — a  dark  brown  or  brindlish  bird,  allied 
to  the  common  yellow-bird,  which  it  much  resembles 
in  its  manner  and  habits.  They  lingered  familiarly 
about  the  house,  sometimes  alighting  in  a  small  tree 
within  a  few  feet  of  it.  In  one  of  the  stumpy  fields  I 
saw  an  old  favorite  in  the  grass  finch  or  vesper  spar- 
row. It  was  sitting  on  a  tall  charred  stub  with  food 
in  its  beak.  But  all  along  the  borders  of  the  woods 
and  in  the  bushy  parts  of  the  fields  there  was  a  new 
song  that  I  was  puzzled  in  tracing  to  the  author.  It 
was  most  noticeable  in  the  morning  and  at  twilight, 
but  was  at  all  times  singularly  secret  and  elusive. 
I  at  last  discovered  that  it  was  the  white-throated 


ADIRONDAC.  87 

sparrow,  a  common  bird  all  through  this  region.  Its 
song  is  very  delicate  and  plaintive  —  a  thin,  waver- 
ing, tremulous  whistle,  which  disappoints  one,  how- 
ever, as  it  ends  when  it  seems  only  to  have  begun. 
If  the  bird  could  give  us  the  finishing  strain  of  which 
this  seems  only  the  prelude,  it  would  stand  first  among 
feathered  songsters. 

By  a  little  trout-brook  in  a  low  part  of  the  woods 
adjoining  the  clearing,  I  had  a  good  time  pursuing 
and  identifying  a  number  of  warblers  —  the  speckled 
Canada,  the  black-throated  blue,  the  yellow-rumped, 
and  Audubou's  warbler.  The  latter,  which  was  lead- 
ing its  troop  of  young  through  a  thick  undergrowth 
on  the  banks  of  the  creek  where  insects  were  plenty, 
was  new  to  me. 

It  being  August,  the  birds  were  all  moulting  and 
sang  only  fitfully  and  by  brief  snatches.  I  remember 
hearing  but  one  robin  during  the  whole  trip.  This 
was  by  the  Boreas  River  in  the  deep  forest.  It  was 
like  the  voice  of  an  old  friend  speaking  my  name. 

From  Hewett's,  after  engaging  his  youngest  son, 
—  the  "  Bub"  of  the  family,  —  a  young  man  about 
twenty  and  a  thorough  woodsman,  as  guide,  we  took 
to  the  woods  in  good  earnest,  our  destination  being 
the  Stillwater  of  the  Boreas  —  a  long  deep  dark 
reach  in  one  of  the  remote  branches  of  the  Hudson, 
about  six  miles  distant.  Here  we  paused  a  couple  of 
days,  putting  up  in  a  dilapidated  lumberman's  .shanty, 
and  cooking  our  fish  over  an  old  stove  which  had 
been  left  there.  The  most  noteworthv  incident  of 


88  ADIRONDAC. 

our  stay  at  this  point  was  the  taking  by  myself  of 
half  a  dozen  splendid  trout  out  of  the  Stillwater,  after 
the  guide  had  exhausted  his  art  and  his  patience  with 
very  insignificant  results.  The  place  had  a  very 
trouty  look,  but  as  the  season  was  late  and  the  river 
warm,  I  knew  the  fish  lay  in  deep  water  from  which 
they  could  not  be  attracted.  In  deep  water  accord- 
ingly, and  near  the  head  of  the  hole,  I  determined  to 
look  for  them.  Securing  a  chub  I  cut  it  into  pieces 
about  an  inch  long  and  with  these  for  bait  sank  rny 
hook  into  the  head  of  the  Stillwater  and  just  to  one 
side  of  the  main  current.  In  less  than  twenty  min- 
utes I  had  landed  six  noble  fellows,  three  of  them 
over  one  foot  long  each.  The  guide  and  my  incredu- 
lous companions,  who  were  watching  me  from  the 
opposite  shore,  seeing  my  luck,  whipped  out  their 
tackle  in  great  haste  and  began  casting  first  at  a  re- 
spectable distance  from  me,  then  all  about  me,  but 
without  a  single  catch.  My  own  efforts  suddenly 
became  fruitless  also,  but  I  had  conquered  the  guide 
and  thenceforth  he  treated  me  with  the  tone  and  free- 
dom of  a  comrade  and  equal. 

One  afternoon  we  visited  a  cave  some  two  miles 
down  the  stream  which  had  recently  been  discovered. 
We  squeezed  and  wriggled  through  a  big  crack  or 
'•left  in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  for  about  one  hun- 
dred feet,  when  we  emerged  into  a  large  dome-shaped 
passage,  the  abode,  during  certain  seasons  of  the  year, 
of  innumerable  bats,  and  at  all  times  of  primeval 
darkness.  There  were  various  other  crannies  and 


ADIRONDAC.  89 

pit-holes  opening  into  it,  some  of  which  we  explored. 
Tin-  voice  of  running  water  was  everywhere  heard, 
betraying  the  proximity  of  the  little  stream  by  whose 
ceaseless  corroding  the  cave  and  its  entrance  had  been 
worn.  This  streamlet  flowed  out  of  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  and  came  from  a  lake  on  the  top  of  the  mount- 
ain ;  this  accounted  for  its  warmth  to  the  hand  which 
surprised  us  all. 

Birds  of  any  kind  were  rare  in  these  woods.  A 
pigeon-hawk  came  prowling  by  our  camp,  and  the 
faint  piping  call  of  the  nut-hatches,  leading  their 
young  through  the  high  trees  was  often  heard. 

On  the  third  day  our  guide  proposed  to  conduct  us 
to  a  lake  in  the  mountains  where  we  could  float  for 
deer. 

Our  journey  commenced  in  a  steep  and  rugged  as- 
cent, which  brought  us  after  an  hour's  heavy  climb- 
ing, to  an  elevated  region  of  pine  forest,  years  before 
ravished  by  lumbermen,  and  presenting  all  manner 
of  obstacles  to  our  awkward  and  encumbered  pedes- 
trian ism.  The  woods  were  largely  pine,  though 
yellow  birch,  beech,  and  maple  were  common.  The 
satisfaction  of  having  a  gun,  should  any  game  show 
itself,  was  the  chief  compensation  to  those  of  us  who 
were  thus  burdened.  A  partridge  would  occasionally 
whir  up  before  us,  or  a  red  squirrel  snicker  and  hasten 
to  his  den  ;  else  the  woods  appeared  quite  tenantless. 
The  most  noted  object  was  a  mammoth  pine,  appar- 
ently the  List  of  a  great  race,  which  presided  over  a 
cluster  of  yellow  birches,  on  the  side  of  the  mountain. 


90  ADIKONDAC. 

About  noon  we  came  out  upon  a  long  shallow  sheet 
of  water  which  the  guide  called  Bloody-Moose  Pond, 
from  the  tradition  that  a  moose  had  been  slaughtered 
there  many  years  before.  Looking  out  over  the  si- 
lent and  lonely  scene,  his  eye  was  the  first  to  detect 
an  object  apparently  feeding  upon  lily-pads,  which 
our  willing  fancies  readily  shaped  into  a  deer.  As  we 
were  eagerly  waiting  some  movement  to  confirm  this 
impression,  it  lifted  up  its  head,  and  lo  !  a  great  blue 
heron.  Seeing  us  approach,  it  spread  its  long  wings 
and  flew  solemnly  across  to  a  dead  tree  on  the  other 
side  of  the  lake,  enhancing,  rather  than  relieving  the 
loneliness  and  desolation  that  brooded  over  the  scene. 
As  we  proceeded  it  flew  from  tree  to  tree  in  ad- 
vance of  us,  apparently  loath  to  be  disturbed  in  its 
ancient  and  solitary  domain.  In  the  margin  of  the 
pond  we  found  the  pitcher-plant  growing,  and  here 
and  there  in  the  sand  the  closed  gentian  lifted  up  its 
blue  head. 

In  traversing  the  shores  of  this  wild,  desolate  lake, 
I  was  conscious  of  a  slight  thrill  of  expectation,  as  if 
some  secret  of  Nature  might  here  be  revealed,  or 
some  rare  and  unheard-of  game  disturbed.  There  is 
ever  a  lurking  suspicion  that  the  beginning  of  things 
is  in  some  way  associated  with  water,  and  one  may 
notice  that  in  his  private  walks  he  is  led  by  a  curious 
attraction  to  fetch  all  the  springs  and  ponds  in  his 
route,  as  if  by  them  was  the  place  for  wonders  and 
miracles  to  happen.  Once,  while  in  advance  of  my 
companions,  I  saw,  from  a  high  rock,  a  commotion  in 


ADIRONDAC.  91 

the  water  near  the  shore,  but  on  reaching  the  point 
found  only  the  marks  of  a  musquash. 

Pressing  on  through  the  forest,  after  many  advent- 
ures with  the  pine-knots,  we  reached,  about  the  mid- 
dle of  the  afternoon,  our  destination,  Nate's  Pond,  — 
a  pretty  sheet  of  water,  lying  like  a  silver  mirror  in 
the  lap  of  the  mountain,  about  a  mile  long  and  half  a 
mile  wide,  surrounded  by  dark  forests  of  balsam, 
hemlock,  and  pine,  and,  like  the  one  we  had  just 
passed,  a  very  picture  of  unbroken  solitude. 

It  is  not  in  the  woods  alone  to  give  one  this  im- 
pression of  utter  loneliness.  In  the  woods  are 
sounds  and  voices,  and  a  dumb  kind  of  companion- 
ship; one  is  little  more  than  a  walking  tree  himself; 
but  come  upon  these  one  of  mountain-lakes,  and  the 
wildness  stands  relieved  and  meets  you  face  to  face. 
Water  is  thus  facile  and  adaptive,  that  it  makes  the  wild 
more  wild,  while  it  enhances  more  culture  and  art 

The  end  of  the  pond  which  we  approached  was 
quite  shoal,  the  stones  rising  above  the  surface  as  in  a 
summer-brook,  and  everywhere  showing  marks  of  the 
noble  game  we  were  in  quest  of —  foot-prints,  dung, 
and  cropped  and  uprooted  lily-pads.  After  resting 
for  a  half  hour,  and  replenishing  our  game-pouches 
at  the  expense  of  the  most  respectable  frogs  of  the 
locality,  we  filed  on  through  the  soft,  resinous  pine- 
woods,  intending  to  camp  near  the  other  end  of  the 
lake,  where,  the  guide  assured  us,  we  should  find  a 
hunter's  cabin  ready  built.  A  half-hour's  march 
brought  us  to  the  locality,  and  a  most  delightful  one 


92  ADIRONDAC. 

it  was,  —  so  hospitable  and  inviting  that  all  the 
kindly  and  beneficent  influences  of  the  woods  must 
have  abided  there.  In  a  slight  depression  in  the 
woods,  about  one  hundred  }Tards  from  the  lake,  though 
hidden  from  it  for  a  hunter's  reasons,  surrounded  by 
a  heavy  growth  of  birch,  hemlock,  and  pine,  with  a 
lining  of  balsam  and  fir,  the  rude  cabin  welcomed  us. 
It  was  of  the  approved  style,  three  sides  inclosed, 
with  a  roof  of  bark  and  a  bed  of  boughs,  and  a  rock 
in  front  that  afforded  a  permanent  back-log  to  all 
fires.  A  faint  voice  of  running  water  was  heard 
near  by,  and,  following  the  sound,  a  delicious  spring- 
rivulet  was  disclosed,  hidden  by  the  moss  and  debris 
as  by  a  new  fall  of  snow,  but  here  and  there  rising 
in  little  well-like  openings,  as  if  for  our  special  con- 
venience. On  smooth  places  on  the  logs  I  noticed 
female  names  inscribed  in  a  female  hand ;  and  the 
guide  told  us  of  an  English  lady,  an  artist,  who  had 
traversed  this  region  with  a  single  guide,  making 
sketches. 

Our  packs  unslung  and  the  kettle  over,  our  first 
move  was  to  ascertain  in  what  state  of  preservation  a 
certain  dug-out  might  be,  which,  the  guide  averred, 
he  had  left  moored  in  the  vicinity  the  summer  before, 
—  for  upon  this  hypothetical  dug-out  our  hopes  of 
venison  rested.  After  a  little  searching  it  was  found 
under  the  top  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  but  in  a  sorry  con- 
dition. A  large  piece  had  been  split  out  of  one  end, 
and  a  fearful  chink  was  visible  nearly  to  the  water- 
line.  Freed  from  the  tree  top,  however,  and  calked 


ADIRONDAC.  93 

witli  a  little  moss,  it  floated  with  two  aboard,  which 
was  quite  enough  for  our  purpose.  A  jack  and  an 
oar  were  necessary  to  complete  the  arrangement,  and 
before  the  sun  had  set  our  professor  of  wood-craft 
had  both  in  readiness.  From  a  young  yellow  birch, 
an  oar  took  shape  with  marvelous  rapidity  —  trimmed 
and  smoothed  with  a  neatness  almost  fastidious,  —  no 
make-shift,  but  an  instrument  fitted  for  the  delicate 
work  it  was  to  perform. 

A  jack  was  made  with  equal  skill  and  speed.  A 
stout  staff  about  three  feet  long  was  placed  upright 
in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  held  to  its  place  by  a 
horizontal  bar,  through  a  hole  in  which  it  turned 
easily:  a  half  wheel  eight  or  ten  inches  in  diameter, 
cut  from  a  large  chip,  was  placed  at  the  top,  around 
which  was  bent  a  new  section  of  birch  bark,  thus 
forming  a  rude  semicircular  reflector.  Three  candles 
placed  within  the  circle  completed  the  jack.  With 
moss  and  boughs  seats  were  arranged  —  one  in  the 
bow  for  the  marksman,  and  one  in  the  stern  for  the 
oarsman.  A  meal  of  frogs  and  squirrels  was  a  good 
preparation,  and  when  darkness  came,  all  were  keenly 
alive  to  the  opportunity  it  brought  Though  by  no 
means  an  expert  in  the  use  of  the  gun,  —  adding  the 
superlative  degree  of  enthusiasm  to  only  the  positive 
degree  of  skill,  —  yet  it  seemed  tacitly  agreed  that  I 
should  act  as  marksman,  and  kill  the  deer,  if  such 
was  to  be  our  luck. 

After  it  was  thoroughly  dark  we  went  down  to 
make  a  >h<»rt  trial-trip.  Everything  working  to  sat- 


94  ADIRONDAC. 

isfaction,  about  ten  o'clock  we  pushed  out  in  earnest. 
For  the  twentieth  time  I  felt  in  the  pocket  that  con- 
tained the  matches,  ran  over  the  part  I  was  to  per- 
form, and  pressed  my  gun  firmly,  to  be  sure  there 
was  no  mistake.  My  position  was  that  of  kneeling 
directly  under  the  jack,  which  I  was  to  light  at  the 
word.  The  night  was  clear,  moonless,  and  still. 
Nearing  the  middle  of  the  lake,  a  breeze  from  the 
west  was  barely  perceptible,  and  noiselessly  we  glided 
before  it.  The  guide  handled  his  oar  with  great  dex- 
terity ;  without  lifting  it  from  the  water  or  breaking 
the  surface,  he  imparted  the  steady,  uniform  motion 
desired.  How  silent  it  was !  The  ear  seemed  the 
only  sense,  and  to  hold  dominion  over  lake  and  for- 
est. Occasionally  a  lily-pad  would  brush  along  the 
bottom,  and  stooping  low  I  could  hear  a  faint  mur- 
muring of  the  water  under  the  bow :  else  all  was 
still.  Then,  almost  as  by  magic,  we  were  encom- 
passed by  a  huge  black  ring.  The  surface  of  the 
lake,  when  we  had  reached  the  centre,  was  slightly 
luminous  from  the  starlight,  and  the  dark,  even  for- 
est-line that  surrounded  us,  doubled  by  reflection  in 
the  water,  presenting  a  broad,  unbroken  belt  of  utter 
blackness.  The  effect  was  quite  startling,  like  some 
huge  conjuror's  trick.  It  seemed  as  if  we  had  crossed 
the  boundary-line  between  the  real  and  the  imagin- 
ary, and  this  was  indeed  the  land  of  shadows  and  of 
spectres.  What  magic  oar  was  that  the  guide  wielded 
that  it  could  transport  me  to  such  a  realm  !  Indeed, 
had  I  not  committed  some  fatal  mistake  and  loft  that 


ADIRONDAC.  95 

trusty  servant  behind,  and  had  not  some  wizard  of 
the  night  stepped  into  his  place  ?  A  slight  splashing 
in-shore  broke  the  spell  and  caused  me  to  turn  nerv- 
ously to  the  oarsman :  -  Musquash,"  said  he,  and  kept 
straight  on. 

Nearing  the  extreme  end  of  the  pond,  the  boat 
gently  headed  around,  and  silently  we  glided  back 
into  the  clasp  of  that  strange  orbit.  Slight  sounds 
were  heard  as  before,  but  nothing  that  indicated  the 
presence  of  the  game  we  were  waiting  for ;  and  we 
reached  the  point  of  departure  as  innocent  of  veni- 
son as  we  had  set  out. 

After  an  hour's  delay,  and  near  midnight,  we 
pushed  out  again.  My  vigilance  and  susceptibility 
were  rather  sharpened  than  dulled  by  the  waiting ; 
and  the  features  of  the  night  had  also  deepened  and 
intensified.  Night  was  at  its  meridian.  The  sky 
had  that  soft  luminousness  which  may  often  be  ob- 
served near  midnight  at  this  season,  and  the  "  large 
few  stars "  beamed  mildly  down.  We  floated  out 
into  that  spectral  shadow-land  and  moved  slowly  on 
as  before.  The  silence  was  most  impressive.  Now 
and  then  the  faint  yeap  of  some  traveling  bird  would 
come  from  the  air  overhead,  or  the  wings  of  a  bat 
whisp  quickly  by,  or  an  owl  hoot  off  in  the  mount- 
ains, giving  to  the  silence  and  loneliness  a  tongue. 
At  short  intervals  some  noise  in-shore  would  startle 
me,  and  cause  me  to  turn  inquiringly  to  the  silent 
figure  in  the  stern. 

The  end  of  the  lake  was  reached,  and  we  turned 


96  ADIRONDAC. 

back.  The  novelty  and  the  excitement  began  to 
flag ;  tired  nature  began  to  assert  her  claims  ;  the 
movement  was  soothing,  arid  the  gunner  slumbered 
fitfully  at  his  post,  Presently  something  aroused 
me.  "  There  's  a  deer,"  whispered  the  guide.  The 
gun  heard,  and  fairly  jumped  in  my  hand.  Listen- 
ing, there  came  the  cracking  of  a  limb,  followed  by  a 
sound  as  of  something  walking  in  shallow  water.  It 
proceeded  from  the  other  end  of  the  lake,  over 
against  our  camp.  On  we  sped,  noiselessly  as  ever, 
but  with  increased  velocity.  Presently,  with  a  thrill 
of  new  intensity,  I  saw  the  boat  was  gradually  head- 
ing in  that  direction.  Now,  to  a  sportsman  who  gets 
excited  over  a  gray  squirrel,  and  forgets  that  he  has 
a  gun  on  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  fox,  this  was  a 
severe  trial.  I  felt  suddenly  cramped  for  room,  and 
trimming  the  boat  was  out  of  the  question.  It 
seemed  that  I  must  make  some  noise  in  spite  of  my- 
self. "  Light  the  jack,"  said  a  soft  whisper  behind 
me.  I  fumbled  nervously  for  a  match,  and  dropped 
the  first  one.  Another  was  drawn  briskly  across  my 
knee,  and  broke.  A  third  lighted,  but  went  out  pre- 
maturely, in  my  haste  to  get  it  up  to  the  jack.  What 
would  I  not  have  given  to  see  those  wicks  blaze  ! 
We  were  fast  nearing  the  shore,  —  already  the  lily- 
pads  began  to  brush  along  the  bottom.  Another  at- 
tempt, and  the  light  took.  The  gentle  motion  fanned 
the  blaze,  and  in  a  moment  a  broad  glare  of  light  fell 
upon  the  water  in  front  of  us,  while  the  boat  re- 
mained in  utter  darkness. 


ADIRONDAC.  97 

By  this  time  I  had  got  beyond  the  nervous  point, 
and  had  come  round  to  perfect  coolness  and  com- 
posure again,  but  preternaturally  vigilant  and  keen. 
I  was  ready  for  any  disclosures ;  not  a  sound  was 
heard.  In  a.  few  moments  the  trees  along-shore  were 
faintly  visible.  Every  object  put  on  the  shape  of  a 
gigantic  deer.  A  large  rock  looked  just  ready  to 
bound  away.  The  dry  limbs  of  a  prostrate  tree  were 
surely  his  antlers. 

But  what  are  those  two  luminous  spots  ?  Need 
the  reader  to  be  told  what  they  were  ?  In  a  moment 
the  head  of  a  real  deer  became  outlined ;  then  his 
neck  and  foreshoulders  ;  then  his  whole  body.  There 
he  stood,  up  to  his  knees  in  the  water,  gazing  fixedly 
at  us,  apparently  arrested  in  the  movement  of  putting 
his  head  down  for  a  lily-pad,  and  evidently  thinking 
it  was  some  new-fangled  moon  sporting  about  there. 
"  Let  him  have  it,"  said  my  prompter,  —  and  the 
crash  came.  There  was  a  scuffle  in  the  water,  and  a 
plunge  in  the  woods.  "  lie 's  gone,"  said  I.  "  Wait 
a  moment,"  said  the  guide,  "  and  I  will  show  you." 
Rapidly  running  the  canoe  ashore,  we  sprang  out, 
and  holding  the  jack  aloft,  explored  the  vicinity  by 
its  light.  There,  over  the  logs  and  brush,  I  caught 
the  glimmer  of  those  luminous  spots  again.  But, 
poor  thing !  there  was  little  need  of  the  second  shot, 
which  was  the  unkindest  cut  of  all,  for  the  deer  had 
already  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  was  fast  expiring. 
The  success  was  but  a  very  indifferent  one,  after  all, 
as  ill.-  victim  turned  out  to  be  only  an  old  doe,  upon 
7 


98  ADIRONDAC. 

whom  maternal  cares  had  evidently   worn  heavily 
during  the  summer. 

This  mode  of  taking  deer  is  very  novel  and  strange. 
The  animal  is  evidently  fascinated  or  bewildered.  It 
does  not  appear  to  be  frightened,  but  as  if  over- 
whelmed with  amazement,  or  under  the  influence  of 
some  spell.  It  is  not  sufficiently  master  of  the  situa- 
tion to  be  sensible  to  fear,  or  to  think  of  escape  by 
flight ;  and  the  experiment,  to  be  successful,  must  be 
done  quickly,  before  the  first  feeling  of  bewilderment 
passes. 

Witnessing  the  spectacle  from  the  shore,  I  can  con- 
ceive of  nothing  more  sudden  or  astounding.  You 
see  no  movement  and  hear  no  noise,  but  the  light 
grows  upon  you,  and  stares  and  stares  like  a  huge 
eye  from  the  infernal  regions. 

According  to  the  guide,  when  a  deer  has  been 
played  upon  in  this  manner  and  escaped,  he  is  not  to 
be  fooled  a  second  time.  Mounting  the  shore,  he 
gives  a  long  signal  snort,  which  alarms  every  animal 
within  hearing,  and  dashes  away. 

The  sequel  to  the  deer-shooting  was  a  little  sharp 
practice  vvitli  a  revolver  upon  a  rabbit,  or  properly  a 
hare,  which  was  so  taken  with  the  spectacle  of  the 
camp-fire,  and  the  sleeping  figures  lying  about,  that  it 
ventured  quite  up  in  our  midst ;  but  while  testing  the 
quality  of  some  condensed  milk  that  sat  uncovered  at 
the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  poor  Lepus  had  his  spine  in- 
jured by  a  bullet. 


AD1RONDAC.  99 

Those  who  lodge  with  Nature  find  early  rising 
quite  in  order.  It  is  our  voluptuous  beds,  and  isola- 
tion from  the  earth  and  the  air,  that  prevents  us  from 
emulating  the  birds  and  beasts  in  this  respect.  With 
the  citizen  in  his  chamber,  it  is  not  morning,  but 
breakfast-time.  The  camper-out,  however,  feels  morn- 
ing in  the  air,  he  smells  it,  sees  it,  hears  it,  and  springs 
up  with  the  general  awakening.  None  were  tardy  at 
the  row  of  white  chips  arranged  on  the  trunk  of  a 
prostrate  tree,  when  breakfast  was  halloed;  for  we 
were  all  anxious  to  try  the  venison.  Few  of  us,  how- 
ever, took  a  second  piece.  It  was  black  and  strong. 

The  day  was  warm  and  calm,  and  we  loafed  at  lei- 
sure. The  woods  were  Nature's  own.  It  was  a  lux- 
ury to  ramble  through  them,  —  rank,  and  shaggy,  and 
venerable,  but  with  an  aspect  singularly  ripe  and  mel- 
low. No  fire  had  consumed  and  no  lumberman  plun- 
dered. Every  trunk  and  limb  and  leaf  lay  where 
it  had  fallen.  At  every  step  the  foot  sank  into  the 
moss,  which,  like  a  soft  green  snow,  covered  every- 
thing, making  every  stone  a  cushion  and  every  rock 
a  bed,  —  a  grand  old  Norse  parlor  ;  adorned  beyond 
art  and  upholstered  beyond  skill. 

Indulging  in  a  brief  nap  on  a  rug  of  club-moss  care- 
lessly dropped  at  the  foot  of  a  pine-tree,  I  woke  up  to 
find  myself  the  subject  of  a  discussion  of  a  troop  of 
chickadees.  Presently  three  or  four  shy  wood-war- 
blers came  to  look  upon  this  strange  creature  that  had 
wandered  into  their  haunts  ;  else  I  passed  quite  un- 
noticed. 


100  ADIRONDAC. 

By  the  lake,  I  met  that  orchard-beauty,  the  cedar 
wax-wing,  spending  his  vacation  in  the  assumed  char- 
acter of  a  fly-catcher,  whose  part  he  performed  with 
great  accuracy  and  deliberation.  Only  a  month  be- 
fore I  had  seen  him  regaling  himself  upon  cherries  in 
the  garden  and  orchard,  but  as  the  dog-days  ap- 
proached, he  set  out  for  the  streams  and  lakes,  to  di- 
vert himself  with  the  more  exciting  pursuits  of  the 
chase.  From  the  tops  of  the  dead  trees  along  the 
border  of  the  lake,  he  would  sally  out  in  all  directions, 
sweeping  through  long  curves,  alternately  mounting 
and  descending,  now  reaching  up  for  a  fly  high  in  air, 
now  sinking  low  for  one  near  the  surface,  and  return- 
ing to  his  perch  in  a  few  moments  for  a  fresh  start. 

The  pine  finch  was  also  here,  though,  as  usual, 
never  appearing  at  home,  but  with  a  waiting,  expect- 
ant air.  Here  also  I  met  my  beautiful  singer,  the 
hermit-thrush,  but  with  no  song  in  his  throat  now.  A 
week  or  two  later  and  he  was  on  his  journey  south- 
ward. This  was  the  only  species  of  thrush  I  saw  in 
the  Adirondac.  Near  Lake  Sandford,  where  were 
large  tracts  of  raspberry  and  wild  cherry,  I  saw  num- 
bers of  them.  A  boy  whom  we  met,  driving  home 
some  stray  cows,  said  it  was  the  "  partridge-bird,"  no 
doubt  from  the  resemblance  of  its  note,  when  dis- 
turbed, to  the  cluck  of  the  partridge. 

Nate's  Pond  contained  perch  and  sun-fish  but  no 
trout.  Its  water  was  not  pure  enough  for  trout.  "Was 
there  ever  any  other  fish  so  fastidious  as  this,  requir- 
ing such  sweet  harmony  and  perfection  of  the  ele- 


ADIRONDAC.  101 

ments  for  its  production  and  sustenance  ?  On  higher 
ground  about  a  mile  distant  was  a  trout  pond,  the 
shores  of  which  were  steep  and  rocky. 

Our  next  move  was  a  tramp  of  about  twelve  miles 
through  the  wilderness,  most  of  the  way  in  a  drench- 
in  «;  rain,  to  a  place  called  the  Lower  Iron  Works, 
situated  on  the  road  leading  in  to  Long  Lake,  which 
is  about  a  day's  drive  farther  on.  We  found  a  com- 
fortable hotel  here,  and  were  glad  enough  to  avail 
oursrlves  of  the  shelter  and  warmth  which  it  offered. 
Thrrr  was  a  little  settlement  and  some  quite  good 
fan  IK.  The  place  commands  a  fine  view  to  the 
north  of  Indian  Pass,  Mount  Marcy,  and  the  adjacent 
mountains.  On  the  afternoon  of  our  arrival  and  also 
the  next  morning  the  view  was  completely  shut  off 
by  the  fug.  But  about  the  middle  of  the  forenoon 
tin-  wind  changed,  the  fog  lifted  and  revealed  to  us 
the  grandest  mountain  scenery  we  had  beheld  on  our 
journey.  There  they  sat  about  fifteen  miles  distant, 
a  group  of  them ;  Mount  Marcy,  Mount  Mclntyre, 
ami  Mount  Golden,  the  real  Adirondac  monarchs. 
It  was  an  impressive  sight,  rendered  doubly  so  by  the 
sudden  manner  in  which  it  was  revealed  to  us  by  that 
scene  shifter  the  Wind. 

I  saw  blackbirds  at  this  place,  and  sparrows,  and 
the  solitary  sandpiper,  and  the  Canada  woodpecker, 
and  u  large  number  of  humming-birds.  Indeed  I  saw 
more  of  the  latter  here  than  I  ever  before  saw  in  any 
one  locality.  Their  squeaking  and  whirring  were 
almost  incessant. 


102  ADIRONDAC. 

The  Adirondac  Iron  Works  belong  to  the  past. 
Over  thirty  years  ago  a  company  in  Jersey  City  pur- 
chased some  sixty  thousand  acres  of  land  lying  along 
the  Adirondac  River  and  abounding  in  magnetic  iron 
ore.  The  land  was  cleared,  roads,  dams,  and  forges 
constructed,  and  the  work  of  manufacturing  iron  be- 
gun. 

At  this  point  a  dam  was  built  across  the  Hudson, 
the  waters  of  which  flowed  back  into  Lake  Sandford, 
about  five  miles  above.  The  lake  itself  being  some 
six  miles  long,  tolerable  navigation  was  thus  estab- 
lished for  a  distance  of  eleven  miles,  to  the  Upper 
Works,  which  seem  to  have  been  the  only  works  in 
operation.  At  the  Lower  Works,  besides  the  remains 
of  the  dam,  the  only  vestige  I  saw  was  a  long  low 
mound,  overgrown  with  grass  and  weeds,  that  sug- 
gested a  rude  earth-work.  We  were  told  that  it  was 
once  a  pile  of  wood  containing  hundreds  of  cords,  cut 
in  regular  lengths  and  corded  up  here  for  use  in  the 
furnaces. 

At  the  Upper  Works,  some  twelve  miles  distant, 
quite  a  village  had  been  built,  which  was  now  entirely 
abandoned,  with  the  exception  of  a  single  family. 

A  march  to  this  place  was  our  next  undertaking. 
The  road  for  two  or  three  miles  kept  up  from  the 
river  and  led  us  by  three  or  four  rough,  stumpy  farms. 
It  then  approached  the  lake  and  kept  along  its  shores. 
It  was  here  a  dilapidated  corduroy  structure  that 
compelled  the  traveler  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  feet. 
Blue  jays,  two  or  three  small  hawks,  a  solitary  wild 


ADIROXDAC.  103 

pi i."  on,  and  ruffed  grouse  were  seen  along  the  route. 
Now  and  then  the  lake  gleamed  through  the  trees,  or 
we  crossed  on  a  shaky  bridge  some  of  its  arms  or  in- 
lets. After  a  while  we  began  to  pass  dilapidated 
houses  by  the  roadside.  One  little  frame  house  I 
rriin-mber  particularly  ;  the  door  was  off  the  hinges 
and  leaned  against  the  jambs,  the  windows  had  but  a 
few  panes  left  which  glared  vacantly.  The  yard  and 
little  garden  spot  were  overrun  with  a  heavy  growth 
of  timothy,  and  the  fences  had  all  long  since  gone  to 
decay.  At  the  head  of  the  lake  a  large  stone  build- 
ing projected  from  the  steep  bank  and  extended  over 
the  road.  A  little  beyond  the  valley  opened  to  the 
east,  and  looking  ahead  about  one  mile  we  saw  smoke 
going  up  from  a  single  chimney.  Pressing  on,  just 
as  the  sun  was  setting  we  entered  the  deserted  vil- 
lage. The  barking  of  the  dog  brought  the  whole 
family  into  the  street,  and  they  stood  till  we  came  up. 
Strangers  in  that  country  were  a  novelty,  and  we 
were  greeted  like  familiar  acquaintances. 

Hunter,  the  head,  proved  to  be  a  first-rate  type  of 
an  Americanized  Irishman.  His  wife  was  a  Scotch 
woman.  They  had  a  family  of  five  or  six  children, 
two  of  them  grown-up  daughters  —  modest,  comely 
young  women  as  you  would  find  anywhere.  The 
elder  of  the  two  had  spent  a  winter  in  New  York 
with  her  aunt,  which  perhaps  made  her  a  little  more 
self-conscious  when  in  the  presence  of  the  strange 
young  men.  Hunter  was  hired  by  the  company  at  a 
dollar  a  day  to  live  here  and  see  that  things  were  not 


104  ADIRONDAC. 

wantonly  destroyed  but  allowed  to  go  to  decay  prop- 
erly and  decently.  He  had  a  substantial  roomy 
frame  house  and  any  amount  of  grass  and  woodland. 
He  had  good  barns  and  kept  considerable  stock,  and 
raised  various  farm  products,  but  only  for  his  own 
use,  as  the  difficulties  of  transportation  to  market 
some  seventy  miles  distant  made  it  no  object.  He 
usually  went  to  Ticonderoga  on  Lake  Champlain 
once  a  year  for  his  groceries,  etc.  His  post-office 
was  twelve  miles  below  at  the  Lower  Works,  where 
the  mail  passed  twice  a  week.  There  was  not  a  doc- 
dor,  or  lawyer,  or  preacher  within  twenty-five  miles. 
In  winter,  months  elapse  without  their  seeing  anybody 
from  the  outside  world.  In  summer,  parties  occa- 
sionally pass  through  here  on  their  way  to  Indian 
Pass  and  Mount  Marcy.  Hundreds  of  tons  of  good 
timothy  hay  annually  rot  down  upon  the  cleared 
land. 

After  nightfall  we  went  out  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  grass-grown  streets.  It  was  a  curious  and 
melancholy  spectacle.  The  remoteness  and  surround- 
ing wildness  rendered  the  scene  doubly  impressive. 
And  the  next  day  and  the  next  the  place  was  an  ob- 
ject of  wonder.  There  were  about  thirty  buildings 
in  all,  most  of  them  small  frame  houses  with  a  door 
and  two  windows  opening  into  a  small  yard  in  front 
and  a  garden  in  the  rear,  such  as  are  usually  occupied 
by  the  laborers  in  a  country  manufacturing  district. 
There  was  one  large  two-story  boarding-house,  a 
school-house  with  a  cupola  and  a  bell  in  it,  and  nu- 


ADIROXDAC.  105 

merous  sheds  and  forges,  and  a  saw-mill.  In  front 
of  the  saw-mill,  and  ready  to  be  rolled  to  their  place 
on  the  carriage,  lay  a  large  pile  of  pine  logs,  so  de- 
cayed that  one  could  run  his  walking-stick  through 
them.  Near  by,  a  building  filled  with  charcoal  was 
bursting  open  and  the  coal  going  to  waste  on  the 
ground.  The  smelting  works  were  also  much  crum- 
bled by  time.  The  school-house  was  still  used. 
Every  day  one  of  the  daughters  assembles  her 
smaller  brothers  and  sisters  there  and  school  keeps. 
The  district  library  contained  nearly  one  hundred 
readable  books,  which  were  well  thumbed. 

The  absence  of  society,  etc.,  had  made  the  family 
all  good  readers.  We  brought  them  an  illustrated 
newspaper  which  was  awaiting  them  in  the  post- 
office  at  the  Lower  Works.  It  was  read  and  reread 
with  great  eagerness  by  every  member  of  the  house- 
hold. 

The  iron  ore  cropped  out  on  every  hand.  There 
was  apparently  mountains  of  it;  one  could  see  it  in 
the  stones  along  the  road.  But  the  difficulties  met 
with  in  separating  the  iron  from  its  alloys,  together 
with  the  expense  of  transportation  and  the  failure  of 
certain  railroad  schemes,  caused  the  works  to  be 
abandoned.  No  doubt  the  time  is  not  distant  when 
these  obstacles  will  be  overcome  and  this  region  re- 
opened. 

At  present  it  is  an  admirable  place  to  go  to.  There 
is  Hshing  and  hunting  and  boating  and  mountain 
climbing  within  easy  reach,  and  a  good  roof  over 


106  ADIROXDAC. 

your  head  at  night,  which  is  no  small  matter.  One  is 
often  disqualified  for  enjoying  the  woods  after  he  gets 
there  by  the  loss  of  sleep  and  of  proper  food  taken  at 
seasonable  times.  This  point  attended  to,  and  one  is 
in  the  humor  for  any  enterprise. 

About  half  a  mile  northeast  of  the  village  is  Lake 
Henderson,  a  very  irregular  and  picturesque  sheet  of 
water,  surrounded  by  dark  evergreen  forests,  and 
abutted  by  two  or  three  bold  promontories  with  mot- 
tled white  and  gray  rocks.  Its  greatest  extent  in 
any  one  direction  is  perhaps  less  than  a  mile.  Its 
waters  are  perfectly  clear  and  abound  in  lake  trout. 
A  considerable  stream  flows  into  it  which  comes 
down  from  Indian  Pass. 

A  mile  south  of  the  village  is  Lake  Sandford. 
This  is  a  more  open  and  exposed  sheet  of  water  and 
much  larger.  From  some  parts  of  it  Mount  Marcy 
and  the  gorge  of  the  Indian  Pass  are  seen  to  excel- 
lent advantage.  The  Indian  Pass  shows  as  a  huge 
cleft  in  the  mountain,  the  gray  walls  rising  on  one 
side  perpendicularly  for  many  hundred  feet.  This 
lake  abounds  in  white  and  yellow  perch  and  in  pick- 
erel ;  of  the  latter  single  specimens  are  often  caught 
which  weigh  fifteen  pounds.  There  were  a  few  wild 
ducks  on  both  lakes.  A  brood  of  the  goosander  or 
red  merganser,  the  young  not  yet  able  to  fly,  were 
the  occasion  of  some  spirited  rowing.  But  with  two 
pairs  of  oars  in  a  trim  light  skiff,  it  was  impossible  to 
come  up  with  them.  Yet  we  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  give  them  a  chase  every  day  when  we 


ADIRONDAC  107 

first  came  on  the  lake.     It  needed  a  good  long  pull 
to  sober  us  down  so  we  could  fish. 

The  land  on  the  east  side  of  the  lake  had  been 
burnt  over,  and  was  now  mostly  grown  up  with  wild 
cherry  and  red  raspberry  bushes.  Ruffed  grouse 
were  found  here  in  great  numbers.  The  Canada 
grouse  was  also  common.  I  shot  eight  of  the  latter 
in  less  than  an  hour  on  one  occasion ;  the  eighth  one, 
which  was  an  old  male,  was  killed  with  smooth  peb- 
ble stones,  my  shot  having  run  short.  The  wounded 
bird  ran  under  a  pile  of  brush,  like  a  frightened  hen. 
Thrusting  a  forked  stick  down  through  the  interstices 
I  soon  stopped  his  breathing.  Wild  pigeons  were 
quite  numerous  also.  These  latter  recall  a  singular 
freak  of  the  sharp  shinned  hawk.  A  flock  of  pig- 
eons alighted  on  the  top  of  a  dead  hemlock  standing 
in  the  edge  of  a  swamp.  I  got  over  the  fence  and 
moved  toward  them  across  an  open  space.  I  had  not 
taken  many  steps,  when  on  looking  up  I  saw  the 
whole  flock  again  in  motion  flying  very  rapidly 
around  the  butt  of  a  hill.  Just  then  this  hawk 
alighted  on  the  same  tree.  I  stepped  back  into  the 
road  and  paused  a  moment  in  doubt  which  course  to 
go.  At  that  instant  the  little  hawk  launched  into 
the  air  and  came  as  straight  as  an  arrow  toward  me. 
I  looked  in  amazement,  but  in  less  than  half  a  minute 
he  was  within  fifty  feet  of  my  face,  coming  full  tilt 
as  if  he  had  sighted  my  nose.  Almost  in  self-de- 
fense I  let  fly  one  barrel  of  my  gun,  and  the  man- 
gled form  of  the  audacious  marauder  fell  literally  be- 
tween mv  feet. 


108  ADIRONDAC. 

Of  wild  animals,  such  as  bears,  panthers,  wolves, 
wild  cats,  etc.,  we  neither  saw  nor  heard  any  in  the 
Adirondacs.  "  A  howling  wilderness,"  Thoreau  says, 
"  seldom  ever  howls.  The  howling  is  chiefly  done 
by  the  imagination  of  the  traveler."  Hunter  said  he 
often  saw  bear  tracks  in  the  snow,  but  had  never  yet 
met  Bruin.  Deer  are  more  or  less  abundant  every- 
where, and  one  old  sportsman  declares  there  is  yet  a 
single  moose  in  these  mountains.  On  our  return, 
a  pioneer  settler,  at  whose  house  we  stayed  over 
night,  told  us  a  long  adventure  he  had  had  with  a 
panther.  lie  related  how  it  screamed,  how  it  fol- 
lowed him  in  the  brush,  how  he  took  to  his  boat, 
how  its  eyes  gleamed  from  the  shore,  and  how  he  fired 
his  rifle  at  them  with  fatal  effect.  His  wife  in  the  mean 
time  took  something  from  a  drawer,  and  as  her  hus- 
band finished  his  recital,  she  produced  a  toe-nail  of  the 
identical  animal  with  marked  dramatic  effect. 

But  better  than  fish  or  game  or  grand  scenery  or 
any  adventure  by  night  or  day,  is  the  wordless  inter- 
course with  rude  Nature  one  has  on  these  expedi- 
tions. It  is  something  to  press  the  pulse  of  our  old 
mother  by  mountain  lakes  and  streams,  and  know 
what  health  and  vigor  are  in  her  veins,  and  how  re- 
gardless of  observation  she  deports  herself. 


BIRDS'-NESTS. 


Crow  Bl.ckb.rd. 


BIRDS'-NESTS. 

How  alert  and  vigilant  the  birds  are,  even  when 
absorbed  in  building  their  nests !  In  an  open  space 
in  the  woods  I  see  a  pair  of  cedar-birds  collecting 
moss  from  the  top  of  a  dead  tree.  Following  the  di- 
rection in  which  they  fly,  I  soon  discover  the  nest 
placed  in  the  fork  of  a  small  soft- maple,  which  stands 
amid  a  thick  growth  of  wild  cherry-trees  and  young 
beeches.  Carefully  concealing  myself  beneath  it 
without  any  fear  that  the  workmen  will  hit  me  with 
a  chip  or  let  fall  a  tool,  I  await  the  return  of  the  busy 
pair.  Presently  I  hear  the  well-known  note,  and  the 
female  sweeps  down  and  settles  unsuspectingly  into 
the  half-finished  structure.  Hardly  have  her  wings 
rested  before  her  eye  has  penetrated  my  screen,  and 
with  a  hurried  movement  of  alarm  she  darts  away. 
In  a  moment  the  male,  with  a  tuft  of  wool  in  his 


112  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

beak  (for  there  is  a  sheep-pasture  near),  joins  her, 
and  the  two  reconnoitre  the  premises  from  the  sur- 
rounding bushes.  With  their  beaks  still  loaded,  they 
move  around  with  a  frightened  look,  and  refuse  to 
approach  the  nest  till  I  have  moved  off  and  lain  down 
behind  a  log.  Then  one  of  them  ventures  to  alight 
upon  the  nest,  but,  still  suspecting  all  is  not  right, 
quickly  darts  away  again.  Then  they  both  together 
come,  and  after  much  peeping  and  spying  about,  and 
apparently  much  anxious  consultation,  cautiously  pro- 
ceed to  work.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  it  would 
seem  that  wool  enough  has  been  brought  to  supply 
the  whole  family,  real  and  prospective,  with  socks,  if 
needles  and  fingers  could  be  found  fine  enough  to 
knit  it  up.  In  less  than  a  week  the  female  has  begun 
to  deposit  her  eggs,  —  four  of  them  in  as  many  days, 
—  white  tinged  with  purple,  with  black  spots  on  the 
larger  end.  After  two  weeks  of  incubation,  the  young 
are  out. 

Excepting  the  American  goldfinch,  this  bird  builds 
later  in  the  spring  than  any  other  —  its  nest,  in  our 
northern  climate,  seldom  being  undertaken  till  July. 
As  with  the  goldfinch,  the  reason  is,  probably,  that 
suitable  food  for  the  young  cannot  be  had  at  an  earlier 
period. 

Like  most  of  our  common  species,  as  the  robin, 
sparrow,  bluebird,  pewee,  wren,  etc.,  this  bird  some- 
times seeks  wild,  remote  localities  in  which  to  rear  its 
young  ;  at  others,  takes  up  its  abode  near  that  of  man. 
I  knew  a  pair  of  cedar-birds,  one  season,  to  build  in 


BIKDS'-XESTS.  113 

an  apple-tree,  the  branches  of  which  rubbed  against 
the  house.  For  a  day  or  two  before  the  first  straw 
was  laid,  I  noticed  the  pair  carefully  exploring  every 
branch  of  the  tree,  the  female  taking  the  lead,  the 
male  following  her  with  an  anxious  note  and  look. 
It  was  evident  that  the  wife  was  to  have  her  choice 
this  time  ;  and,  like  one  who  thoroughly  knew  her 
mind,  she  was  proceeding  to  take  it.  Finally  the 
site  was  chosen  upon  a  high  branch,  extending  over 
one  low  wing  of  the  house.  Mutual  congratulations 
and  caresses  followed,  when  both  birds  flew  away  in 
quest  of  building  material.  That  most  freely  used  is 
a  sort  of  cotton-bearing  plant,  which  grows  in  old 
worn-out  fields.  The  nest  is  large  for  the  size  of  the 
bird,  and  very  soft.  It  is  in  every  respect  a  first-class 
domicile. 

On  another  occasion,  while  walking  or  rather  saun- 
tering in  the  woods  (for  I  have  discovered  that  one 
cannot  run  and  read  the  book  of  nature),  my  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  a  dull  hammering,  evidently  but 
a  few  rods  off.  I  said  to  myself,  "  Some  one  is  build- 
ing a  house."  From  what  I  had  previously  seen,  I 
suspected  the  builder  to  be  a  red-headed  woodpecker 
in  the  top  of  a  dead  oak  stub  near  by.  Moving  cau- 
tiously in  that  direction,  I  perceived  a  round  hole, 
about  the  size  of  that  made  by  an  inch-and-a-half 
auger,  near  the  top  of  the  decayed  trunk,  and  the 
white  chips  of  the  workman  strewing  the  ground  be- 
neath. When  but  a  few  paces  from  the  tree,  my  foot 
pressed  upon  a  dry  twig,  which  gave  forth  a  very 


114  BIHDS'-NESTS. 

slight  snap.  Instantly  the  hammering  ceased,  and  a 
scarlet  head  appeared  at  the  door.  Though  I  re- 
mained perfectly  motionless,  forbearing  even  to  wink 
till  my  eyes  smarted,  the  bird  refused  to  go  on  with 
his  work,  but  flew  quietly  off  to  a  neighboring  tree. 
What  surprised  me  was,  that  amid  his  busy  occupa- 
tion down  in  the  heart  of  the  old  tree,  he  should  have 
been  so  alert  and  watchful  as  to  catch  the  slightest 
sound  from  without. 

The  woodpeckers  all  build  in  about  the  same  man- 
ner, excavating  the  trunk  or  branch  of  a  decayed  tree 
and  depositing  the  eggs  on  the  fine  fragments  of  wood 
at  the  bottom  of  the  cavity.  Though  the  nest  is  not 
especially  an  artistic  work,  —  requiring  strength 
rather  than  skill,  —  yet  the  eggs  and  the  young  of 
few  other  birds  are  so  completely  housed  from  the 
elements,  or  protected  from  their  natural  enemies  — 
the  jays,  crows,  hawks,  and  owls.  A  tree  with  a 
natural  cavity  is  never  selected,  but  one  which  has 
been  dead  just  long  enough  to  have  become  soft  and 
brittle  throughout.  The  bird  goes  in  horizontally  for 
a  few  inches,  making  a  hole  perfectly  round  and 
smooth  and  adapted  to  his  size,  then  turns  downward, 
gradually  enlarging  the  hole,  as  he  proceeds,  to  the 
depth  of  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  inches,  according  to  the 
softness  of  the  tree  and  the  urgency  of  the  mother- 
bird  to  deposit  her  eggs.  While  excavating,  male 
and  female  work  alternately.  After  one  has  been 
engaged  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  drilling  and  carry- 
ing out  chips,  it  ascends  to  an  upper  limb,  utters  a  loud 


BIBDS'-NESTS.  115 

call  or  two,  when  its  mate  soon  appears,  and,  alight- 
ing near  it  on  the  branch,  the  pair  chatter  and  caress 
a  moment,  then  the  fresh  one  enters  the  cavity  and 
the  other  flies  away. 

A  few  days  since  I  climbed  up  to  the  nest  of  the 
downy  woodpecker,  in  the  decayed  top  of  a  sugar- 
maple.  For  better  protection  against  driving  rains, 
the  hole,  which  was  rather  more  than  an  inch  in  di- 
ameter, was  made  immediately  beneath  a  branch  which 
stretched  out  almost  horizontally  from  the  main  stem. 
It  appeared  merely  a  deeper  shadow  upon  the  dark 
and  mottled  surface  of  the  bark  with  which  the 
branches  were  covered,  and  could  not  be  detected  by 
the  eye  until  one  was  within  a  few  feet  of  it.  The 
young  chirped  vociferously  as  I  approached  the  nest, 
thinking  it  was  the  old  one  with  food  ;  but  the  clamor 
suddenly  ceased  as  I  put  my  hand  on  that  part  of  the 
trunk  in  which  they  were  concealed,  the  unusual  jar- 
ring and  rustling  alarming  them  into  silence.  The 
cavity,  which  was  about  fifteen  inches  deep,  was  gourd- 
shaped,  and  was  wrought  out  with  great  skill  and 
ragplarily.  The  walls  were  quite  smooth  and  clean 
and  new. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  circumstance  of  observing 
a  pair  of  yellow-bellied  woodpeckers  —  the  most  rare 
'and  secluded,  and,  next  to  the  red-headed,  the  most 
beautiful  species  found  in  our  woods,  —  breeding  in 
an  old,  truncated  beech  in  the  Beaverkill  Mountains, 
an  offshoot  of  the  Catskills.  We  had  been  traveling, 
three  of  us,  all  day  in  search  of  a  trout  lake,  which 


116  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

lay  far  in  among  the  mountains,  had  twice  lost  our 
course  in  the  trackless  forest,  and,  weary  and  hungry, 
had  sat  down  to  rest  upon  a  decayed  log.  The  chat- 
tering of  the  young,  and  the  passing  to  and  fro  of  the 
parent  birds,  soon  arrested  my  attention.  The  en- 
trance to  the  nest  was  on  the  east  side  of  the  tree, 
about  twenty-five  feet  from  the  ground.  At  intervals 
of  scarcely  a  minute,  the  old  birds,  one  after  another, 
would  alight  upon  the  edge  of  the  hole  with  a  grub 
or  worm  in  their  beaks ;  then  each  in  turn  would 
make  a  bow  or  two.  cast  an  eye  quickly  around,  and 
by  a  single  movement  place  itself  in  the  neck  of  the 
passage.  Here  it  would  pause  a  moment,  as  if  to  de- 
termine in  which  expectant  mouth  to  place  the  mor- 
sel, and  then  disappear  within.  In  about  half  a  min- 
ute, during  which  time  the  chattering  of  the  young 
gradually  subsided,  the  bird  would  again  emerge,  but 
this  time  bearing  in  its  beak  the  ordure  of  one  of  the 
helpless  family.  Flying  away  very  slowly  with  head 
lowered  and  extended,  as  if  anxious  to  hold  the  offen- 
sive object  as  far  from  its  plumage  as  possible,  the 
bird  dropped  the  unsavory  morsel  in  the  course  of  a 
few  yards,  and  alighting  on  a  tree,  wiped  its  bill  on 
the  bark  and  moss.  This  seems  to  be  the  order  all 
day,  —  carrying  in  and  carrying  out.  I  watched  the 
birds  for  an  hour,  while  my  companions  were  taking 
their  turn  in  exploring  the  lay  of  the  land  around  us, 
and  noted  no  variation  in  the  programme.  It  would 
be  curious  to  know  if  the  young  are  fed  and  waited 
upon  in  regular  order,  and  how,  amid  the  darkness 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  117 

and  the  crowded  state  of  the  apartment,  the  matter  is 
so  neatly  managed.  But  ornithologists  are  all  silent 
upon  the  subject. 

Tliis  practice  of  the  birds  is  not  so  uncommon  as  it 
might  at  first  seem.  It  is  indeed  almost  an  invariable 
rule  among  all  land  birds.  With  woodpeckers  and 
kindred  species,  and  with  birds  that  burrow  in  the 
ground,  as  bunk  swallows,  kingfishers,  etc.,  it  is  a  ne- 
cessity. The  accumulation  of  the  excrement  in  the 
nest  would  prove  most  fatal  to  the  young. 

But  even  among  birds  that  neither  bore  nor  mine, 
but  which  build  a  shallow  nest  on  the  branch  of  a 
tree  or  upon  the  ground,  as  the  robin,  the  finches,  the 
buntings,  etc.,  the  ordure  of  the  young  is  removed  to 
a  distance  by  the  parent  bird.  When  the  robin  is 
seen  going  away  from  its  brood  with  a  slow  heavy 
flight,  entirely  different  from  its  manner  a  moment 
before  on  approaching  the  nest  with  a  cherry  or 
worm,  it  is  certain  to  be  engaged  in  this  office.  One 
may  observe  the  social  sparrow,  when  feeding  its 
young,  pause  a  moment  after  the  worm  has  been 
given  and  hop  around  on  the  brink  of  the  nest  ob- 
serving the  movements  within. 

The  instinct  of  cleanliness  no  doubt  prompts  the 
action  in  all  cases,  though  the  disposition  to  secrecy 
or  concealment  may  not  be  unmixed  with  it. 

The  swallows  form  an  exception  to  the  rule,  the 
excrement  being  voided  by  the  young  over  the  brink 
of  the  nest.  They  form  an  exception,  also,  to  the  rule 
of  secrecy,  aiming  not  so  much  to  conceal  the  nest  as 
to  render  it  inaccessible. 


118  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

Other  exceptions  are  the  pigeons,  hawks,  and 
water-fowls. 

But  to  return.  Having  a  good  chance  to  note  the 
color  and  markings  of  the  woodpeckers  as  they  passed 
in  and  out  at  the  opening  of  the^est,  I  saw  that  Au- 
dubon  had  made  a  mistake  in  figuring  or  describing 
the  female  of  this  species  with  the  red  spot  upon  the 
head.  I  have  seen  a  number  of  pairs  of  them,  and  in 
no  instance  have  I  seen  the  mother  bird  marked  with 
red. 

The  male  was  in  full  plumage,  and  I  reluctantly 
shot  him  for  a  specimen.  Passing  by  the  place  again 
next  day  I  paused  a  moment  to  note  how  matters 
stood.  I  confess  it  was  not  without  some  compunc- 
tions that  I  heard  the  cries  of  the  young  birds,  and 
saw  the  widowed  mother,  her  cares  now  doubled, 
hastening  to  and  fro  in  the  solitary  woods.  She 
would  occasionally  pause  expectantly  on  the  trunk  of 
a  tree,  and  utter  a  loud  call. 

It  usually  happens  when  the  male  of  any  species  is 
killed  during  the  breeding  season,  that  the  female 
soon  procures  another  mate.  There  are,  most  likely, 
always  a  few  unmated  birds  of  both  sexes,  within  a 
given  range,  and  through  these  the  broken  links  may 
be  restored.  Audubon  or  Wilson,  I  forget  which, 
tells  of  a  pair  of  fish-hawks,  or  ospreys,  that  built 
their  nest  in  an  ancient  oak.  The  male  was  so  zeal- 
ous in  the  defense  of  the  young  that  it  actually  at- 
tacked with  beak  and  claw  a  person  who  attempted 
to  climb  into  his  nest,  putting  his  face  and  eyes  in 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  119 

great  jeopardy.  Arming  himself  with  a  heavy  club, 
the  climber  felled  the  gallant  bird  to  the  ground  and 
killed  him.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days  the  female 
had  procured  another  mate.  But  naturally  enough 
the  step-father  showed  none  of  the  spirit  and  pluck 
in  defense  of  the  brood  that  had  been  displayed  by 
the  original  parent.  When  danger  was  nigh  he  was 
seen  afar  off,  sailing  around  in  placid  unconcern. 

It  is  generally  known  that  when  either  the  wild 
turkey  or  domestic  turkey  begins  to  lay,  and  after- 
wards to  sit  and  rear  the  brood,  she  secludes  herself 
from  the  male,  who  then,  very  sensibly,  herds  with 
others  of  his  sex,  and  betakes  himself  to  haunts  of 
his  own  till  male  and  female,  old  and  young,  meet 
again  on  common  ground,  late  in  the  fall.  But  rob 
the  sitting  bird  of  her  eggs,  or  destroy  her  tender 
young,  and  she  immediately  sets  out  in  quest  of  a 
male,  who  is  no  laggard  when  he  hears  her  call. 
The  same  is  true  of  ducks  and  other  aquatic  fowls. 
The  propagating  instinct  is  strong,  and  surmounts  all 
ordinary  difficulties.  No  doubt  the  widowhood  I  had 
caused  in  the  case  of  the  woodpeckers  was  of  short 
duration,  and  chance  brought,  or  the  widow  drummed 
up,  some  forlorn  male,  who  was  not  dismayed  by  the 
prospect  of  having  a  large  family  of  half-grown  birds 
on  his  hands  at  the  outset. 

I  have  seen  a  fine  cock  robin  paying  assiduous  ad- 
dresses to  a  female  bird,  as  late  as  the  middle  of 
July ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  his  intentions  were 
honorable.  I  watched  the  pair  for  half  an  hour. 


120  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

The  hen,  I  took  it,  was  in  the  market  for  the  second 
time  that  season ;  but  the  cock,  from  his  bright,  un- 
faded  plumage,  looked  like  a  new  arrival.  The  hen 
resented  every  advance  of  the  male.  In  vain  he 
strutted  around  her  and  displayed  his  fine  feathers  ; 
every  now  and  then  she  would  make  at  him  in  a 
most  spiteful  manner.  He  followed  her  to  the 
ground,  poured  into  her  ear  a  fine,  half-suppressed 
warble,  offered  her  a  worm,  flew  back  to  the  tree 
again  with  a  great  spread  of  plumage,  hopped  around 
her  on  the  branches,  chirruped,  chattered,  flew  gal- 
lantly at  an  intruder,  and  was  back  in  an  instant 
at  her  side.  No  use,  —  she  cut  him  short  at  every 
turn. 

The  denouement  I  cannnot  relate,  as  the  artful  bird, 
followed  by  her  ardent  suitor,  soon  flew  away  beyond 
my  sight.  It  may  not  be  rash  to  conclude,  however, 
that  she  held  out  no  longer  than  was  prudent. 

On  the  whole,  there  seems  to  be  a  system  of 
Women's  Rights  prevailing  among  the  birds,  which, 
contemplated  from  the  stand-point  of  the  male,  is 
quite  admirable.  In  almost  all  cases  of  joint  inter- 
est, the  female  bird  is  the  most  active.  She  deter- 
mines the  site  of  the  nest,  and  is  usually  the  most 
absorbed  in  its  construction.  Generally,  she  is  more 
vigilant  in  caring  for  the  young,  and  manifests  the 
most  concern  when  danger  threatens.  Hour  after 
hour  I  have  seen  the  mother  of  a  brood  of  blue 
grossbeaks  pass  from  the  nearest  meadow  to  the  tree 
that  held  her  nest,  with  a  cricket  or  grasshopper  in 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  121 

her  bill,  while  her  better-dressed  half  was  singing 
serenely  on  a  distant  tree  or  pursuing  his  pleasure 
amid  the  branches. 

Yet  among  the  majority  of  our  song  birds  the  male 
is  most  conspicuous  both  by  his  color  and  manners 
and  by  his  song,  and  is  to  that  extent  a  shield  to  the 
f. male.  It  is  thought  that  the  female  is  humbler 
clad  for  her  better  concealment  during  incubation. 
But  this  is  not  satisfactory,  as  in  some  cases  she  is 
relieved  from  time  to  time  by  the  male.  In  the  case 
of  the  domestic  dove,  for  instance,  promptly  at  mid- 
day the  cock  is  found  upon  the  nest.  I  should  say 
that  the  dull  or  neutral  tints  of  the  female  were  a 
provision  of  nature  for  her  greater  safety  at  all  times, 
as  her  life  is  far  more  precious  to  the  species  than  that 
of  the  male.  The  indispensable  office  of  the  male 
reduces  itself  to  little  more  than  a  moment  of  time, 
while  that  of  his  mate  extends  over  days  and  weeks, 
if  not  months.1 

i  A  recent  English  writer  upon  this  subject  presents  an  array  of 
facts  and  considerations  that  do  not  support  this  view.  He  says 
that,  with  very  few  exceptions,  it  is  the  rule  that,  when  both  sexes 
are  of  strikingly  gay  and  conspicuous  colors,  the  nest  is  such  as  to 
conceal  the  sitting  bird  ;  while,  whenever  there  is  a  striking  con- 
trast of  color.',  the  male  being  gay  and  conspicuous,  the  female 
dull  and  obscure,  the  nest  is  open  and  the  sitting  bird  exposed 
to  view.  The  exception*  to  this  rule  among  European  bird*  ap- 
pear to  l>e  very  few.  Among  our  own  birds,  the  cuckoos  and  blue 
jays  build  open  nests,  without  presenting  any  noticeable  differ- 
ence in  the  coloring  of  the  two  sexes.  The  same  is  true  of  the 
pewees,  the  king-bird,  and  the  sparrows,  while  the  common  blue- 
bird, the  oriole,  and  orchard  starling  afford  examples  the  other 
way. 


122  BIKDS'-NESTS. 

In  migrating  northward,  the  males  precede  the  fe- 
males by  eight  or  ten  days  ;  returning  in  the  fall,  the 
females  and  young  precede  the  males  by  about  the 
same  time. 

After  the  woodpeckers  have  abandoned  their  nests, 
or  rather  chambers,  which  they  do  after  the  first  sea- 
son, their  cousins,  the  nut-hatches,  chickadees,  and 
brown  creepers,  fall  heir  to  them.  These  birds,  es- 
pecially the  creepers  and  nut-hatches,  have  many  of 
the  habits  of  the  picidee,  but  lack  their  powers  of 
bill,  and  so  are  unable  to  excavate  a  nest  for  them- 
selves. Their  habitation,  therefore,  is  always  second- 
hand. But  each  species  carries  in  some  soft  material 
of  various  kinds,  or,  in  other  words,  furnishes  the 
tenement  to  its  liking.  The  chickadee  arranges  in 
the  bottom  of  the  cavity  a  little  mat  of  a  light  felt-like 
substance,  which  looks  as  if  it  came  from  the  hatter's, 
but  which  is  probably  the  work  of  numerous  worms 
or  caterpillars.  On  this  soft  lining  the  female  depos- 
its six  white  eggs. 

I  recently  discovered  one  of  these  nests  in  a  most 
interesting  situation.  The  tree  containing  it,  a  vari- 
ety of  the  wild-cherry,  stood  upon  the  brink  of  the 
bald  summit  of  a  high  mountain.  Gray,  time-worn 
rocks  lay  piled  loosely  about,  or  overtoppled  the  just 
visible  by-ways  of  the  red  fox.  The  trees  had  a  half- 
scared  look,  and  that  indescribable  wildness  which 
lurks  about  the  tops  of  all  remote  mountains  pos- 
sessed the  place.  Standing  there  I  looked  down  upon 
the  back  of  the  red-tailed  hawk  as  he  flew  out  over 


r,ii:i»'-.\KSTS.  123 

the  earth  beneath  me.  Following  him,  my  eye  also 
took  in  farms  and  settlements  and  villages  and  other 
mountain  ranges  that  grew  blue  in  the  distance. 

The  parent  birds  attracted  my  attention  by  appear- 
in::  with  tii< id  in  their  beaks,  and  by  seeming  much 
put  out.  Yet  so  wary  were  they  of  revealing  the 
locality  of  their  brood,  or  even  of  the  precise  tree 
that  held  them,  that  I  lurked  around  over  an  hour 
without  gaining  a  point  on  them.  Finally  a  bright 
and  curious  boy  who  accompanied  me  secreted  him- 
self under  a  low,  projecting  rock  close  to  the  tree 
in  which  we  supposed  the  nest  to  be,  while  I  moved 
off*  around  the  mountain-side.  It  was  not  long  be- 
fore the  youth  had  their  secret.  The  treey^which 
was  low  and  wide  branching,  and  overrun  with  lich- 
ens, appeared  at  a  cursory  glance  to  contain  not  one 
dry  or  decayed  limb.  Yet  there  was  one  a  few  feet 
long,  in  which,  when  my  eyes  were  piloted  thither,  I 
detected  a  small  round  orifice. 

As  my  weight  began  to  shake  the  branches,  the 
consternation  of  both  old  and  young  was  great.  The 
stump  of  a  limb  that  held  the  nest  was  about  three 
inches  thick,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  tunnel  was  ex- 
cavated quite  to  the  bark.  With  my  thumb  I  broke 
in  the  thin  wall,  and  the  young,  which  were  full- 
fledged,  looked  out  upon  the  world  for  the  first  time. 
Presently  one  of  them,  which  a  significant  chirp,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  It  is  time  we  were  out  of  this,"  be- 
gan to  climb  up  toward  the  proper  entrance.  Plarin<y 
himself  in  the  hole,  he  looked  around  without  mani- 


124  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

Testing  any  surprise  at  the  grand  scene  that  lay  spread 
out  before  him.  He  was  taking  his  bearings  and  de- 
termining how  far  he  could  trust  the  power  of  his  un- 
tried wings  to  take  him  out  of  harm's  way.  After  a 
moment's  pause,  with  a  loud  chirrup,  he  launched  out 
and  made  tolerable  headway.  The  others  rapidly  fol- 
lowed. Each  one,  as  it  started  upward,  from  a  sud- 
den impulse,  contemptuously  saluted  the  abandoned 
nest  with  its  excrement. 

Though  generally  regular  in  their  habits  and  in- 
stincts, yet  the  birds  sometimes  seem  as  whimsical  and 
capricious  as  superior  beings.  One  is  not  safe,  for 
instance,  in  making  any  absolute  assertion  as  to  their 
place  or  mode  of  building.  Ground  builders  often 
get  up  into  a  bush,  and  tree  builders  sometimes  get 
upon  the  ground  or  into  a  tussock  of  grass.  The 
song  sparrow,  which  is  a  ground  builder,  has  been 
known  to  build  in  the  knot-Lole  of  a  fence  rail,  and  a 
chimney  swallow  once  got  tired  of  soot  and  smoke, 
and  fastened  its  nest  on  a  rafter  in  a  hay  barn.  A 
friend  tells  me  of  a  pair  of  barn  swallows  which,  tak- 
ing a  fanciful  turn,  saddled  their  nest  in  the  loop  of  a 
rope  that  was  pendent  from  a  peg  in  the  peak,  and 
liked  it  so  well  that  they  repeated  the  experiment 
next  year.  I  have  known  the  social  sparrow,  or  "hair- 
bird,"  to  build  under  a  shed,  in  a  tuft  of  hay  that  hung 
down,  through  the  loose  flooring,  from  the  mow  above. 
It  usually  contents  itself  with  half  a  dozen  stalks 
of  dry  grass  and  a  few  long  hairs  from  a  cow's  tail 
loosely  arranged  on  the  branch  of  an  apple-tree.  The 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  125 

rough-winged  swallow  builds  in  the  wall  and  in  old 
stone  heaps,  and  I  have  seen  the  robin  build  in  simi- 
lar localities.  Others  have  found  its  nest  in  old,  aban- 
doned wells.  The  house  wren  will  build  in  anything 
that  has  an  accessible  cavity,  from  an  old  boot  to  a 
bombshell.  A  pair  of  them  once  persisted  in  build- 
ing their  nest  in  the  top  of  a  certain  pump-tree,  get- 
ting in  through  the  opening  above  the  handle.  The 
pump  being  in  daily  use,  the  nest  was  destroyed  more 
than  a  score  of  times.  This  jealous  little  wretch  has 
the  wise  forethought,  when  the  box  in  which  he 
builds  contains  two  compartments,  to  fill  up  one  of 
them,  so  as  to  avoid  the  risk  of  troublesome  neigh- 
bors. 

The  less  skillful  builders  sometimes  depart  from 
their  usual  habit,  and  take  up  with  the  abandoned 
nest  of  some  other  species.  The  blue  jay  now  and 
then  lays  in  an  old  crow's-nest  or  cuckoo's-nest.  The 
crow-blackbird,  seized  with  a  fit  of  indolence,  drops 
its  eggs  in  the  cavity  of  a  decayed  branch.  I  heard 
of  A  cuckoo  that  dispossessed  a  robin  of  its  nest ;  of 
another  that  set  a  blue  jay  adrift.  Large,  loose 
structures,  like  the  nests  of  the  osprey  and  certain 
of  the  herons,  have  been  found  with  half  a  dozen 
nests  of  the  blackbird  set  in  the  outer  edges,  like  so 
many  parasites,  or,  as  Audubon  says,  like  the  retain- 
ers about  the  rude  court  of  a  feudal  baron. 

The  same  birds  breeding  in  a  southern  climate 
construct  far  less  elaborate  nests  than  when  breeding 
in  a  northern  climate.  Certain  species  of  water-fowl 


126  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

that  abandon  their  eggs  to  the  sand  and  the  sun  in 
the  warmer  zones,  build  a  nest  and  sit  in  the  usual 
way  in  Labrador.  In  Georgia,  the  Baltimore  oriole 
places  its  nest  upon  the  north  side  of  the  tree;  in 
the  Middle  and  Eastern  States,  it  fixes  it  upon  the 
south  or  east  side,  and  makes  it  much  thicker  and 
warmer.  I  have  seen  one  from  the  South  that  had 
some  kind  of  coarse  reed  or  sedge  woven  into  it,  giv- 
ing it  an  open  work  appearance,  like  a  basket. 

Very  few  species  use  the  same  material  uniformly. 
I  have  seen  the  nest  of  the  robin  quite  destitute  of 
mud.  In  one  instance,  it  was  composed  mainly  of 
long  black  horse-hairs,  arranged  in  a  circular  manner, 
with  a  linging  of  fine  yellow  grass ;  the  whole  pres- 
enting quite  a  novel  appearance.  In  another  case, 
the  nest  was  chiefly  constructed  of  a  species  of  rock 
moss. 

The  nest  for  the  second  brood  during  the  same 
season  is  often  a  mere  make-shift.  The  haste  of  the 
female  to  deposit  her  eggs  as  the  season  advances 
seems  very  great,  and  the  structure  is  apt  to  be  pre- 
maturely finished.  I  was  recently  reminded  of  this 
fact  by  happening,  about  the  last  of  July,  to  meet 
with  several  nests  of  the  wood  or  bush  sparrow  in  a 
remote  blackberry  field.  The  nests  with  eggs  were 
far  less  elaborate  and  compact  than  the  earlier  nests, 
from  which  the  young  had  flown. 

Day  after  day,  as  I  go  to  a  certain  piece  of  woods, 
I  observe  a  male  indigo-bird  sitting  on  precisely  the 
same  part  of  a  high  branch,  and  singing  in  his  most 


BIBDS'-XESTS.  127 

vivacious  style.  As  I  approach  he  ceases  to  sing,  and, 
flirting  his  tail  right  and  left  with  marked  emphasis, 
rliirjis  sharply.  lu  a  low  bush  near  by,  I  come  upon 
the  object  of  his  solicitude  —  a  thick,  compact  nest 
composed  largely  of  dry  leaves  and  fine  grass,  in 
which  a  plain  brown  bird  is  sitting  upon  four  pale 
blue  eggs. 

The  wonder  is,  that  a  bird  will  leave  the  apparent 
security  of  the  tree-tops,  to  place  its  nest  in  the  way 
of  the  many  dangers  that  walk  and  crawl  upon  the 
ground.  There,  far  up  out  of  reach,  sings  the  bird  ; 
here,  not  three  feet  from  the  ground,  are  its  eggs  or 
helpless  young.  The  truth  is,  birds  are  the  greatest 
enemies  of  birds,  and  it  is  with  reference  to  this  fact 
that  many  of  the  smaller  species  build. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  proportion  of  birds  breed 
along  highways.  I  have  known  the  ruffed  grouse  to 
come  out  of  a  dense  wood  and  make  its  nest  at  the 
root  of  a  tree  within  ten  paces  of  the  road,  where,  no 
doubt,  hawks  and  crows,  as  well  as  skunks  and  foxes, 
would  be  less  liable  to  find  it  out.  Traversing  remote 
mountain-roads  through  dense  woods,  I  have  repeat- 
edly seen  the  veery,  or  Wilson's  thrush,  sitting  upon 
her  nest,  so  near  me  that  I  could  almost  take  her  from 
it  by  stretching  out  my  hand.  Birds  of  prey  show 
none  of  this  confidence  in  man,  and,  when  locating 
their  nests,  avoid  rather  than  seek  his  haunts. 

In  a  certain  locality  in  the  interior  of  New  York,  I 
know,  every  season,  where  I  am  sure  to  find  a  nest  or 
two  of  the  shite-colored  snow-bird.  It  is  under  the 


128  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

brink  of  a  low,  mossy  bank,  so  near  the  highway  that 
it  could  be  reached  from  a  passing  vehicle  with  a  whip. 
Every  horse  or  wagon  or  foot  passenger  disturbs  the 
sitting  bird.  She  awaits  the  near  approach  of  the 
sound  of  feet  or  wheels,  and  then  darts  quickly  across 
the  road,  barely  clearing  the  ground,  and  disappears 
amid  the  bushes  on  the  opposite  side. 

In  the  trees  that  line  one  of  the  main  streets  and 
fashionable  drives  leading  out  of  Washington  city, 
and  less  than  half  a  mile  from  the  boundary,  I  have 
counted  the  nests  of  five  different  species  at  one  time, 
and  that  without  any  very  close  scrutiny  of  the  foliage, 
while  in  many  acres  of  woodland,  half  a  mile  off,  I 
searched  in  vain  for  a  single  nest.  Among  the  five 
the  nest  that  interested  me  most  was  that  of  the  blue 
grossbeak.  Here  this  bird,  which,  according  to  Au- 
dubon's  observations  in  Louisiana,  is  shy  and  recluse, 
affecting  remote  marshes  and  the  borders  of  large 
ponds  of  stagnant  water,  had  placed  its  nest  in  the 
lowest  twig  of  the  lowest  branch  of  a  large  sycamore, 
immediately  over  a  great  thoroughfare,  and  so  near 
the  ground  that  a  person  standing  in  a  cart  or  sitting 
on  a  horse  could  have  reached  it  with  his  hand.  •  The 
nest  was  composed  mainly  of  fragments  of  newspaper 
and  stalks  of  grass,  and  though  so  low,  was  remark- 
ably well  concealed  by  one  of  the  peculiar  clusters  of 
twigs  and  leaves  which  characterize  this  tree.  The 
nest  contained  young  when  I  discovered  it,  and 
though  the  parent  birds  were  much  annoyed  by  my 
loitering  about  beneath  the  tree,  they  paid  little  atten- 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  129 

tion  to  the  stream  of  vehicles  that  was  constantly  pass- 
ing. It  was  a  wonder  to  me  when  the  birds  could 
have  built  it,  for  they  are  much  shyer  when  building 
than  at  other  times.  No  doubt  they  worked  mostly 
in  the  morning,  having  the  early  hours  all  to  them- 
selves. 

Another  pair  of  blue  gross  beaks  built  in  a  grave- 
yard within  the  city  limits.  The  nest  was  placed  in 
a  low  bush,  and  the  male  continued  to  sing  at  inter- 
vals till  the  young  were  ready  to  fly.  The  song  of 
this  bird  is  a  rapid,  intricate  warble,  like  that  of  the 
indigo-bird,  though  stronger  and  louder.  Indeed, 
these  two  birds  so  much  resemble  each  other  in  color, 
form,  manner,  voice,  and  general  habits  that,  were  it 
not  for  the  difference  in  size,  —  the  grossbeak  being 
nearly  as  large  again  as  the  indigo-bird,  —  it  would 
be  a  hard  matter  to  tell  them  apart.  The  females  of 
both  species  are  clad  in  the  same  reddish-brown  suits. 
So  are  the  young  the  first  season. 

Of  course  in  the  deep,  primitive  woods  also  are 
nests ;  but  how  rarely  we  find  them  !  The  simple  art 
of  the  bird  consists  in  choosing  common,  neutral-tinted 
material,  as  moss,  dry  leaves,  twigs,  and  various  odds 
and  ends,  and  placing  the  structure  on  a  convenient 
branch,  where  it  blends  in  color  with  its  surround- 
ings ;  but  how  consummate  is  this  art,  and  how  skill- 
fully is  the  nest  concealed  !  We  occasionally  light 
upon  it,  but  who,  unaided  by  the  movements  of  the 
bird,  could  find  it  out?  During  the  present  season  I 
went  to  the  woods  nearly  every  day  for  a  fortnight, 


130  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

without  making  any  discoveries  of  this  kind  ;  till  one 
day,  paying  them  a  farewell  visit,  I  chanced  to  come 
upon  several  nests.  A  black  and  white  creeping  war- 
bler suddenly  became  much  alarmed  as  I  approached 
a  crumbling  old  stump  in  a  dense  part  of  the  forest. 
He  alighted  upon  it,  chirped  sharply,  ran  up  and 
down  its  sides,  and  finally  left  it  with  much  reluc- 
tance. The  nest,  which  contained  three  young  birds 
nearly  fledged,  was  placed  upon  the  ground,  at  the 
foot  of  the  stump,  and  in  such  a  position  that  the  color 
of  the  young  harmonized  perfectly  with  the  bits  of 
bark,  sticks,  etc.,  lying  about.  My  eye  rested  upon 
them  for  the  second  time  before  I  made  them  out. 
They  hugged  the  nest  very  closely,  but  as  I  put  down 
my  hand  they  all  scampered  off  with  loud  cries  for 
help,  which  caused  the  parent  birds  to  place  them- 
selves almost  within  my  reach.  The  nest  was  merely 
a  little  dry  grass  arranged  in  a  thick  bed  of  dry  leaves. 
This  was  amid  a  thick  undergrowth.  Moving  on 
into  a  passage  of  large  stately  hemlocks,  with  only 
here  and  there  a  small  beech  or  maple  rising  up  into 
the  perennial  twilight,  I  paused  to  make  out  a  note 
which  was  entirely  new  to  me.  It  is  still  in  my  ear. 
Though  unmistakably  a  bird  note,  it  yet  suggested 
the  bleating  of  a  tiny  lambkin.  Presently  the  birds 
appeared,  —  a  pair  of  the  solitary  vireo.  They  came 
flitting  from  point  to  point,  alighting  only  for  a  mo- 
ment at  a  time,  the  male  silent,  but  the  female  utter- 
ing this  strange,  tender  note.  It  was  a  rendering  into 
some  new  sylvan  dialect  of  the  human  sentiment  of 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  131 

maidenly  love.  It  was  really  pathetic  in  its  sweetness 
nn«l  childlike  confidence  and  joy.  I  soon  discovered 
that  the  pair  were  building  a  nest  upon  a  low  branch 
a  few  yards  from  me.  The  male  flew  cautiously  to 
the  spot,  and  adjusted  something,  and  the  twain  moved 
on,  the  female  calling  to  her  mate  at  intervals,  love-c, 
love-e^  with  a  cadence  and  tenderness  in  the  tone  that 
rang  in  the  ear  long  afterward.  The  nest  was  sus- 
pended to  the  fork  of  a  small  branch,  as  is  usual  with 
the  vireos,  plentifully  lined  with  lichens,  and  bound 
and  rebound  with  masses  of  coarse  spider-webs. 
-There  was  no  attempt  at  concealment  except  in  the 
neutral  tints,  which  made  it  look  like  a  natural  growth 
of  the  dim,  gray  woods. 

Continuing  my  random  walk,  I  next  paused  in  a 
low  part  of  the  woods,  where  the  larger  trees  began 
to  give  place  to  a  thick  second-growth  that  covered 
an  old  Barkpeeling.  I  was  standing  by  a  large  ma- 
ple, when  a  small  bird  darted  quickly  away  from  it, 
as  if  it  might  have  come  out  of  a  hole  near  its  base. 
As  the  bird  paused  a  few  yards  from  me,  and  began 
to  chirp  uneasily,  my  curiosity  was  at  once  excited. 
"When  I  saw  it  was  the  female  mourning  ground 
warbler,  and  remembered  that  the  nest  of  this  bird 
had  not  yet  been  seen  by  any  naturalist,  —  that  not 
even  Dr.  Brewer  hail  ever  seen  the  eggs,  —  I  felt 
that  here  was  something  worth  looking  for.  So  I 
carefully  began  the  search,  exploring  inch  by  inch  the 
ground,  the  base  and  roots  of  the  tree,  and  the  vari- 
ous shrubby  growths  about  it,  till,  finding  nothing, 


182  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

and  fearing  I  might  really  put  my  foot  in  it,  I  be- 
thought me  to  withdraw  to  a  distance  and  after  some 
delay  return  again,  and,  thus  forewarned,  note  the 
exact  point  from  which  the  bird  flew.  This  I  did, 
and,  returning,  had  little  difficulty  in  discovering  the 
nest.  It  was  placed  but  a  few  feet  from  the  maple- 
tree,  in  a  bunch  of  ferns,  and  about  six  inches  from 
the  ground.  It  was  quite  a  massive  nest,  composed 
entirely  of  the  stalks  and  leaves  of  dry  grass,  with  an 
inner  lining  of  fine,  dark-brown  roots.  The  eggs, 
three  in  number,  were  of  light  flesh  color,  uniformly 
specked  -with  fine  brown  specks.  The  cavity  of  the 
nest  was  so  deep  that  the  back  of  the  sitting  bird  sank 
below  the  edge. 

In  the  top  of  a  tall  tree,  a  short  distance  farther 
on,  I  saw  the  nest  of  the  red-tailed  hawk,  —  a  large 
mass  of  twigs  and  dry  sticks.  The  young  had  flown, 
but  still  lingered  in  the  vicinity,  and,  as  I  approached, 
the  mother  bird  flew  about  over  me,  squealing  in  a 
very  angry,  savage  manner.  Tufts  of  the  hair  and 
other  indigestible  material  of  the  common  meadow 
mouse  lay  around  on  the  ground  beneath  the  nest. 

As  I  was  about  leaving  the  woods  my  hat  almost 
brushed  the  nest  of  the  red-eyed  vireo,  which  hung 
basket-like  on  the  end  of  a  low,  drooping  branch  of 
the  beech.  I  should  never  have  seen  it  had  the  bird 
kept  her  place.  It  contained  three  eggs  of  the  bird's 
own,  and  one  of  the  cow-bunting.  The  strange  egg 
was  only  just  perceptibly  larger  than  the  others,  yet 
three  days  after,  when  I  looked  into  the  nest  again 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  133 

and  found  all  but  one  egg  hatched,  the  young  inter- 
loper was  at  least  four  times  as  large  as  either  of  the 
others,  and  with  such  a  superabundance  of  bowels  as 
to  almost  smother  his  bedfellows  beneath  them.  That 
the  intruder  should  fare  the  same  as  the  rightful  oc- 
cupants, and  thrive  with  them,  was  more  than  ordi- 
nary potluck ;  but  that  it  alone  should  thrive,  devour- 
ing, as  it  were,  all  the  rest,  is  one  of  those  freaks  of 
Nature  in  which  she  would  seem  to  discourage  the 
homely  virtues  of  prudence  and  honesty.  Weeds  and 
parasites  have  the  odds  greatly  against  them,  yet  they 
wage  a  very  successful  war  nevertheless. 

The  woods  hold  not  such  another  gem  as  the  nest 
of  the  humming-bird.  The  finding  of  one  is  an  event 
to  date  from.  It  is  the  next  best  thing  to  finding  an 
eagle's  nest.  I  have  met  with  but  two,  both  by  chance. 
One  was  placed  on  the  horizontal  branch  of  a  chest- 
nut-tree, with  a  solitary  green  leaf,  forming  a  com- 
plete canopy,  about  an  inch  and  a  half  above  it.  The 
repeated  spiteful  darlings  of  the  bird  past  my  ears,  as 
I  stood  under  the  tree,  caused  me  to  suspect  that  I 
was  intruding  upon  some  one's  privacy ;  and  follow- 
ing it  with  my  eye,  I  soon  saw  the  nest,  which  was  in 
process  of  construction.  Adopting  my  usual  tactics 
of  secreting  myself  near  by,  I  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  the  tiny  artist  at  work.  It  was  the  female  un- 
assisted by  her  mate.  At  intervals  of  two  or  three 
minutes  she  would  appear  with  a  small  tuft  of  some 
cottony  substance  in  her  beak,  dart  a  few  times  through 
and  around  the  tree,  and  alighting  quickly  in  the  nest 


134  BIBDS'-NESTS. 

arrange  the  material  she  had  brought,  using  her  breast 
as  a  model. 

The  other  nest  I  discovered  in  a  dense  forest  on 
the  side  of  a  mountain.  The  sitting  bird  was  dis- 
turbed as  I  passed  beneath  her.  The  whirring  of  her 
wings  arrested  my  attention,  when,  after  a  short  pause, 
I  had  the  good  luck  to  see,  through  an  opening  in 
the  leaves,  the  bird  return  to  her  nest,  which  ap- 
peared like  a  mere  wart  or  excrescence  on  a  small 
branch.  The  humming-bird,  unlike  all  others,  does 
not  alight  upon  the  nest,  but  flies  into  it.  She  enters 
it  as  quick  as  a  flash  but  as  light  as  any  feather.  Two 
eggs  are  the  complement.  They  are  perfectly  white, 
and  so  frail  that  only  a  woman's  fingers  may  touch 
them.  Incubation  lasts  about  ten  days.  In  a  week 
the  young  have  flown. 

The  only  nest  like  the  humming-bird's,  and  com- 
parable to  it  in  neatness  and  symmetry,  is  that  of  the 
blue-gray  gnatcatcher.  This  is  often  saddled  upon  the 
limb  in  the  same  manner,  though  it  is  generally  more 
or  less  pendent ;  it  is  deep  and  soft,  composed  mostly 
of  some  vegetable  down  covered  all  over  with  delicate 
tree-lichens,  and,  except  that  it  is  much  larger,  ap- 
pears almost  identical  with  the  nest  of  the  humming- 
bird. 

But  the  nest  of  nests,  the  ideal  nest,  after  we  have 
left  the  deep  woods,  is  unquestionably  that  of  the  Bal- 
timore oriole.  It  is  the  only  perfectly  pensile  nest 
we  have.  The  nest  of  the  orchard  oriole  is  indeed 
mainly  so,  but  this  bird  generally  builds  lower  and 
shallower,  more  after  the  manner  of  the  vireos. 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  135 

The  Baltimore  oriole  loves  to  attach  its  nest  to  the 
swaying  branches  of  the  tallest  elms,  making  no  at- 
tempt at  concealment,  but  satisfied  if  the  position  be 
high  and  the  branch  pendent.  This  nest  would  seem 
to  cost  more  time  and  skill  than  any  other  bird  struct- 
ure. A  peculiar  flax-like  substance  seems  to  be  al- 
ways sought  after  and  always  found.  The  nest  when 
completed  assumes  the  form  of  a  large,  suspended, 
gourd.  The  walls  are  thin  but  firm,  and  proof  against 
the  most  driving  rain.  The  mouth  is  hemmed  or 
overhanded  with  horse-hair,  and  the  sides  are  usually 
sewed  through  and  through  with  the  same. 

Not  particular  as  to  the  matter  of  secrecy,  the  bird 
is  not  particular  as  to  material,  so  that  it  be  of  the 
nature  of  strings  or  threads.  A  lady  friend  once  told 
me  that  while  working  by  an  open  window,  one  of 
these  birds  approached  during  her  momentary  ab- 
sence, and,  seizing  a  skein  of  some  kind  of  thread  or 
yarn,  made  off  with  it  to  its  half-finished  nest.  But 
the  perverse  yarn  caught  fast  in  the  branches,  and,  in 
the  bird's  efforts  to  extricate  it,  got  hopelessly  tangled. 
She  tugged  away  at  it  all  day,  but  was  finally  obliged 
to  content  herself  with  a  few  detached  portions.  The 
fluttering  strings  were  an  eye-sore  to  her  ever  after, 
and  passing  and  re  passing,  she  would  give  them  a 
spiteful  jerk,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There  is  that  con- 
founded yarn  that  gave  me  so  much  trouble." 

From  Pennsylvania,  Vincent  Barnard  (to  whom  I 
am  indebted  for  other  curious  facts)  sent  me  this  in- 
teresting story  of  an  oriole.  He  says  a  friend  of  his, 


136  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

curious  in  such  things,  on  observing  the  bird  begin- 
ning to  build",  hung  out  near  the  prospective  nest 
skeins  of  many-colored  zephyr  yarn,  which  the  eager 
artist  readily  appropriated.  He  managed  it  so  that 
the  bird  used  nearly  equal  quantities  of  various  high, 
bright  colors.  The  nest  was  made  unusually  deep 
and  capacious,  and  it  may  be  questioned  if  such  a 
thing  of  beauty  was  ever  before  woven  by  the  cunning 
of  a  bird. 

Nuttall,  by  far  the  most  genial  of  American  orni- 
thologists, relates  the  following  :  — 

'•  A  female  (oriole),  which  I  observed  attentively, 
carried  off  to  her  nest  a  piece  of  lamp-wick  ten  or 
twelve  feet  long.  This  long  string  and  many  other 
shorter  ones  were  left  hanging  out  for  about  a  week 
before  both  the  ends  were  wattled  into  the  sides  of 
the  nest.  Some  other  little  birds  making  use  of  simi- 
lar materials,  at  times  twitched  these  flowing  ends, 
and  generally  brought  out  the  busy  Baltimore  from 
her  occupation  in  great  anger. 

"  I  may  perhaps  claim  indulgence  for  adding  a 
little  more  of  the  biography  of  this  particular  bird,  as 
a  representative  also  of  the  instincts  of  her  race. 
She  completed  the  nest  in  about  a  week's  time,  with- 
out any  aid  from  her  mate ;  who  indeed  appeared  but 
seldom  in  her  company  and  was  "now  become  nearly 
silent.  For  fibrous  materials  she  broke,  hackled, 
and  gathered  the  flax  of  the  asclepias  and  liibiscus 
stalks,  tearing  off  long  strings  and  flying  with  them 
to  the  scene  of  her  labors.  She  appeared  very  eager 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  137 

and  hasty  in  her  pursuits,  and  collected  her  materials 
without  fear  or  restraint,  while  three  men  were  work- 
ing in  the  neighboring  walks  and  many  persons  visit- 
ing the  garden.  Her  courage  and  perseverance  were 
indeed  truly  admirable.  If  watched  too  narrowly, 
she  saluted  with  her  usual  scolding,  tshrr,  tshrr,  tshrr, 
seeing  no  reason,  probably,  why  she  should  be  inter- 
rupted in  her  indispensable  occupation. 

"  Though  the  males  were  now  comparatively  silent 
on  the  arrival  of  their  busy  mates,  I  could  not  help 
observing  this  female  and  a  second,  continually  vocif- 
erating, apparently  in  strife.  At  last  she  was  ob- 
served to  attack  this  second  female  very  fiercely,  who 
slyly  intruded  herself  at  times  into  the  same  tree 
where  she  was  building.  These  contests  were  angry 
and  often  repeated.  To  account  for  this  animosity, 
I  now  recollected  that  two  fine  males  had  been 
killed  in  our  vicinity  ;  and  I  therefore  concluded  the 
intruder  to  be  left  without  a  mate  ;  yet  she  had  gained 
the  affections  of  the  consort  of  the  busy  female,  and 
thus  the  cause  of  their  jealous  quarrel  became  ap- 
parent. Having  obtained  the  confidence  of  her  faitb- 
less  paramour,  the  second  female  began  preparing  to 
weave  a  nest  in  an  adjoining  elm,  by  tying  together 
certain  pendent  twigs  as  a  foundation.  The  male 
now  associated  chiefly  with  the  intruder,  whom  he 
even  assisted  in  her  labor,  yet  did  not  wholly  forget 
his  first  partner  who  called  on  him  one  evening  in  a 
low  affectionate  tone,  which  was  answered  in  the 
same  strain.  While  they  were  thus  engaged  in 


138  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

friendly  whispers,  suddenly  appeared  the  rival,  and  a 
violent  rencontre  ensued,  so  that  one  of  the  females 
appeared  to  be  greatly  agitated,  and  fluttered  with 
spreading  wings  as  if  considerably  hurt.  The  male 
though  prudentlv  neutral  in  the  contest,  showed  his 
culpable  partiality  by  flying  off  with  his  paramour, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  left  the  tree  to  his 
pugnacious  consort.  Cares  of  another  kind  more 
imperious  and  tender,  at  length  reconciled,  or  at 
least  terminated  these  disputes  with  the  jealous  fe- 
males ;  and  by  the  aid  of  the  neighboring  bachelors, 
who  are  never  wanting  among  these  and  other  birds, 
peace  was  at  length  completely  restored,  by  the  res- 
titution of  the  quiet  and  happy  condition  of  monog- 
amy." 

Let  me  not  forget  to  mention  the  nest  under  the 
mountain  ledge,  the  nest  of  the  common  pewee, — a 
modest  mossy  structure,  with  four  pearl  white  eggs, 
—  looking  out  upon  some  wild  scene  and  overhung 
by  beetling  crags.  After  all  has  been  said  about  the 
elaborate,  high-hung  structures,  few  nests  perhaps 
awaken  more  pleasant  emotions  in  the  mind  of  the 
beholder  than  this  of  the  pewee, — the  gray,  silent 
rocks,  with  caverns  and  dens  where  the  fox  and  the 
wolf  lurk,  and  just  out  of  their  reach,  in  a  little  niche, 
as  if  it  grew  there,  the  mossy  tenement ! 

Nearly  every  high  projecting  rock  in  my  range  has 
one  of  these  nests.  Following  a  trout  stream  up  a 
wild  mountain  gorge,  not  long  since,  I  counted  five 
in  the  distance  of  a  mile,  all  within  easy  reach,  but 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  139 

safe  from  the  minks  aud  the  skunks,  and  well  housed 
from  the  storms.  In  my  native  town  I  know  a  pine 
and  oak  clad  hill,  round-topped,  with  a  bold,  precipi- 
tous front  extending  half-way  around  it.  JSear  the 
top,  and  along  this  front  or  side,  there  crops  out  a 
ledge  of  rocks  unusually  high  and  cavernous.  One 
immense  layer  projects  many  feet,  allowing  a  person 
or  many  persons,  standing  upright,  to  move  freely  be- 
neath it.  There  is  a  delicious  spring  of  water  there, 
and  plenty  of  wild,  cool  air.  The  floor  is  of  loose 
stone,  now  trod  by  sheep  and  foxes,  once  by  the  Indian 
and  the  wolf.  How  I  have  delighted  from  boyhood 
to  spend  a  summer-day  in  this  retreat  or  take  refuge 
there  from  a  sudden  shower  !  Always  the  freshness 
and  coolness,  and  always  the  delicate  mossy  nest  of 
the  phocbe-bird  !  The  bird  keeps  her  place  till  you 
are  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  when  she  flits  to  a  near 
branch,  and,  with  many  oscillations  of  her  tail,  ob- 
serves you  anxiously.  Since  the  country  has  become 
settled  this  pewee  has  fallen  into  the  strange  practice 
of  occasionally  placing  its  nest  under  a  bridge,  hay- 
shed,  or  other  artificial  structure,  where  it  is  subject 
to  all  kinds  of  interruptions  and  annoyances.  When 
placed  thus,  the  nest  is  larger  and  coarser.  I  know  a 
hay-loft  beneath  which  a  pair  has  regularly  placed  its 
nest  for  several  successive  seasons.  Arranged  along 
on  a  single  pole,  which  sags  down  a  few  inches  from 
the  flooring  it  was  intended  to  help  support,  are  three 
of  these  structures,  marking  the  number  of  years  the 
birds  have  nested  there.  The  foundation  is  of  mud 


140  BIKDS'-NESTS. 

with  a  superstructure  of  moss,  elaborately  lined  with 
hair  and  feathers.  Nothing  can  be  more  perfect  and 
exquisite  than  the  interior  of  one  of  these  nests,  yet  a 
new  one  is  built  every  season.  Three  broods,  how- 
ever, are  frequently  reared  in  it. 

The  pewees,  as  a  class,  are  the  best  architects  we 
have.  The  king-bird  builds  a  nest  altogether  admir- 
able, using  various  soft  cotton  and  woolen  substances, 
and  sparing  neither  time  nor  material  to  make  it  sub- 
stantial and  warm.  The  green-crested  pewee  builds 
its  nest  in  many  instances  wholly  of  the  blossoms  of 
the  white-oak.  The  wood  pewee  builds  a  neat,  com- 
pact, socket-shaped  nest  of  moss  and  lichens  on  a 
horizontal  branch.  There  is  never  a  loose  end  or 
shred  about  it.  The  sitting  bird  is  largely  visible 
above  the  rim.  She  moves  her  head  freely  about 
and  seems  entirely  at  her  ease,  —  a  circumstance 
which  I  have  never  observed  in  any  other  species. 
The  nest  of  the  great-crested  flycatcher  is  seldom 
free  from  snake  skins,  three  or  four  being  sometimes 
woven  into  it. 

About  the  thinnest,  shallowest  nest,  for  its  situa- 
tion, that  can  be  found  is  that  of  the  turtle-dove.  A 
few  sticks  and  straws  are  carelessly  thrown  together, 
hardly  sufficient  to  prevent  the  eggs  from  falling 
through  or  rolling  off.  The  nest  of  the  passenger 
pigeon  is  equally  hasty  and  insufficient,  and  the  squabs 
often  fall  to  the  ground  and  perish.  The  other  ex- 
treme among  our  common  birds  is  furnished  by  the 
ferruginous  thrush,  which  collects  together  a  mass 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  141 

of  material  that  would  fill  a  half-bushel  measure  ;  or 
by  the  fish-hawk,  which  adds  to  and  repairs  its  nest 
year  after  year,  till  the  whole  would  make  a  cart-load. 
The  rarest  of  all  nests  is  that  of  the  eagle,  because 
the  eagle  is  the  rarest  of  all  birds.  Indeed  so  seldom 
is  the  eagle  seen  that  its  presence  always  seems  acci- 
dental. It  appears  as  if  merely  pausing  on  the  way, 
while  bound  for  some  distant  unknown  region.  One 
September,  while  a  youth,  I  saw  the  ring-tailed 
eagle,  an  immense,  dusky  bird,  the  sight  of  which 
filled  me  with  awe.  It  lingered  about  the  hills  for 
two  clays.  Some  young  cattle,  a  two-year-old  colt, 
and  half  a  dozen  sheep  were  at  pasture  on  a  high 
ridge  that  led  up  to  the  mountain,  and  in  plain  view 
of  the  house.  On  the  second  day  this  dusky  mon- 
arch was  seen  flying  about  above  them.  Presently 
he  began  to  hover  over  them,  after  the  manner  of  a 
hawk  watching  for  mice.  He  then  with  extended 
legs  let  himself  slowly  down  upon  them,  actually 
grappling  the  backs  of  the  young  cattle,  and  fright- 
ening the  creatures  so  that  they  rushed  about  the 
field  in  great  consternation ;  and  finally,  as  he  grew 
bolder  and  more  frequent  in  his  descents,  the  whole 
herd  broke  over  the  fence  and  came  tearing  down 
to  the  house  "  like  mad."  It  did  not  seem  to  be 
an  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  but  was  perhaps  a 
stratagem  resorted  to  in  order  to  separate  the  herd 
and  expose  the  lambs,  which  hugged  the  cattle  very 
closely.  When  he  occasionally  alighted  upon  the 
oaks  that  stood  near,  the  branch  could  be  seen  to 


142  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

sway  and  bend  beneath  him.  Finally,  as  a  rifleman 
started  out  in  pursuit  of  him,  he  launched  into  the 
air,  set  his  wings,  and  sailed  away  southward.  A 
few  years  afterward,  in  January,  another  eagle  passed 
through  the  same  locality,  alighting  in  a  field  near 
some  dead  animal,  but  tarried  briefly. 

So  much  by  way  of  identification.  The  bird  is  com- 
mon to  the  northern  parts  of  both  hemispheres,  and 
places  its  eyrie  on  high  precipitous  rocks.  A  pair 
built  on  an  inaccessible  shelf  of  rock  along  the  Hudson 
for  eight  successive  years.  A  squad  of  Revolution- 
ary soldiers,  also,  found  a  nest  along  this  river,  and 
had  an  adventure  with  the  bird  that  came  near  cost- 
ing one  of  their  number  his  life.  His  comrades  let 
him  down  by  a  rope  to  secure  the  eggs  or  young, 
when  he  was  attacked  by  the  female  eagle  with  such 
fury  that  he  was  obliged  to  defend  himself  with  his 
knife.  In  doing  so,  by  a  misstroke,  he  nearly  sev- 
ered the  rope  that  held  him,  and  was  drawn  up  by  a 
single  strand  from  his  perilous  position.  Audubon, 
from  whom  this  anecdote  is  taken,  figures  and  de- 
scribes this  bird  as  the  golden  eagle,  though  I  have 
little  doubt  that  "Wilson  was  right,  and  that  the 
golden  eagle  is  a  distinct  species. 

The  sea-eagle,  also,  builds  on  high  rocks,  according 
to  Audubon,  though  Wilson  describes  the  nest  of  one 
which  he  saw  near  Great  Egg  Harbor,  in  the  top  of 
a  large  yellow  pine.  Tt  was  a  vast  pile  of  sticks, 
sods,  sedge,  grass,  reeds,  etc.,  etc.,  five  or  six  feet 
high  by  four  broad,  and  with  little  or  no  concavity. 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  143 

It  had  been  used  for  many  years,  and  he  was  told 
that  the  eagles  made  it  a  sort  of  home  or  lodging- 
place  in  all  seasons.  This  agrees  with  the  descrip- 
tion which  Audubon  gives  of  the  nest  of  the  bald 
eagle.  There  is  evidently  a  little  confusion  on  both 
sides. 

The  eagle  in  all  cases  uses  one  nest,  with  more  or 
less  repair,  for  several  years.  Many  of  our  common 
birds  do  the  same.  The  birds  may  be  divided,  with 
respect  to  this  and  kindred  points,  into  five  general 
classes.  First,  those  that  repair  or  appropriate  the 
last  year's  nest,  as  the  wren,  swallow,  bluebird,  great- 
crested  flycatcher,  owls,  eagles,  fish-hawk,  and  a  few 
others.  Secondly,  those  that  build  anew  each  season, 
though  frequently  rearing  more  than  one  brood  in  the 
same  nest.  Of  these  the  phoebe-bird  is  a  well-known 
example.  Thirdly,  those  that  build  a  new  nest  for 
each  brood,  which  includes  by  far  the  greatest  num- 
ber of  species.  Fourthly,  a  limited  number  that 
make  no  nest  of  their  own,  but  appropriate  the  aban- 
doned nests  of  other  birds.  Finally,  those  who  use 
no  nest  at  all,  but  deposit  their  eggs  in  the  sand,  which 
is  the  case  with  a  large  number  of  aquatic  fowls. 
Thus,  the  common  gull  breeds  in  vast  numbers  on  the 
sand  bars  or  sand  islands  off  the  south  coast  of  Long 
Island.  A  little  dent  is  made  in  the  sand,  the  eggs 
are  dropped,  and  the  old  birds  go  their  way.  In  due 
time  the  eggs  are  hatched  by  the  warmth  of  the  sun, 
and  the  little  creatures  shift  for  themselves.  In  July 


144  BIBDS'-NESTS. 

countless  numbers  of  them,  of  different  ages  and  sizes, 
swarm  upon  these  sandy  wastes.  As  the  waves  roll 
out  they  rush  down  the  beach,  picking  up  a  kind  of 
sea  gluten,  and  then  hasten  back  to  avoid  the  next 
breaker. 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 


Purple  Finch. 

SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

WITH    AN    ETE    TO    THE    BIRDS. 

I  CAME  to  Washington  to  live  in  the  fall  of  1863, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  a  month  each  summer 
spent  in  the  interior  of  New  York,  have  lived  here 
ever  since. 

I  saw  my  first  novelty  in  Natural  History  the  day 
after  my  arrival.  As  I  was  walking  near  some  woods 
north  of  the  city,  a  grasshopper  of  prodigious  size 
flew  up  from  the  ground  and  alighted  in  a  tree.  As 
I  pursued  him,  he  proved  to  be  nearly  as  wild  and  as 
fleet  of  wing  as  a  bird.  I  thought  I  had  reached  the 
capital  of  grasshopperdom,  and  that  this  was  perhaps 
one  of  the  chiefs  or  leaders,  or  perhaps  the  great  High 
Cock  O'lorura  himself,  taking  an  airing  in  the  fields. 


148  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  settle  the  question,  as 
every  fall  I  start  up  a  few  of  these  gigantic  specimens, 
which  perch  on  the  trees.  They  are  about  three 
inches  long,  of  a  gray  striped  or  spotted  color,  and 
have  quite  a  reptile  look. 

The  greatest  novelty  I  found,  however,  was  the 
superb  autumn  weather,  the  bright,  strong,  electric 
days,  lasting  well  into  November,  and  the  general 
mildness  of  the  entire  winter.  Though  the  mercury 
occasionally  sinks  to  zero,  yet  the  earth  is  never  so 
seared  and  blighted  by  the  cold,  but  that  in  some 
sheltered  nook  or  corner  signs  of  vegetable  life  still 
remain,  which  on  a  little  encouragement  even  asserts 
itself.  I  have  found  wild  flowers  here  every  month 
in  the  year  ;  violets  in  December,  a  single  houstonia 
in  January  (the  little  lump  of  earth  upon  which  it 
stood  was  frozen  hard),  and  a  tiny,  weed-like  plant, 
with  a  flower  almost  microscopic  in  its  smallness, 
growing  along  graveled  walks,  and  in  old  plowed 
fields  in  February.  The  liverwort  sometimes  comes 
out  as  early  as  the  first  week  in  March,  and  the  little 
frogs  begin  to  pipe  doubtfully  about  the  same  time. 
Apricot-trees  are  usually  in  bloom  on  All-FooPs-day, 
and  the  apple-trees  on  May-day.  By  August,  mother 
hen  will  lead  forth  her  third  brood,  and  I  had  a  March 
pullet  that  came  off  with  a  family  of  her  own  in 
September.  Our  calendar  is  made  for  this  climate. 
March  is  a  spring  month.  One  is  quite  sure  to  see 
some  marked  and  striking  change  during  the  first 
eight  or  ten  days.  This  season  (1868)  is  a  backward 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  149 

one,  and  the  memorable  change  did  not  come  till  the 
10th. 

Then  the  sun  rose  up  from  a  bed  of  vapors,  and 
seemed  fairly  to  dissolve  with  tenderness  and  warmth. 
For  an  hour  or  two  the  air  was  perfectly  motionless, 
and  full  of  low,  humming,  awakening  sounds.  The 
naked  trees  had  a  rapt,  expectant  look.  From  some 
unreclaimed  common  near  by  came  the  first  strain  of 
the  song-sparrow  ;  so  homely,  because  so  old  and 
familiar,  yet  so  inexpressibly  pleasing.  Presently  a 
full  chorus  of  voices  arose  ;  tender,  musical,  half  sup- 
pressed, but  full  of  genuine  hilarity  and  joy.  The 
bluebird  warbled,  the  robin  called,  the  snow-bird 
chattered,  the  meadow-lark  uttered  her  strong,  but 
tender  note.  Over  a  deserted  field  a  turkey-buzzard 
hovered  low,  and  alighted  on  a  stake  in  the  fence, 
standing  a  moment  with  outstretched,  vibrating  wings, 
till  he  was  sure  of  his  hold.  A  soft,  warm,  brooding 
day.  Roads  becoming  dry  in  many  places,  and  look- 
ing so  good  after  the  mud  and  the  snow.  I  walk  up 
beyond  the  boundary  and  over  Meridian  Hill.  To 
move  along  the  drying  road  and  feel  the  delicious 
warmth  is  enough.  The  cattle  low  long  and  loud, 
and  look  wistfully  into  the  distance.  I  sympathize 
with  them.  Never  a  spring  comes,  but  I  have  an 
almost  irresistible  desire  to  depart.  Some  nomadic 
or  migrating  instinct  or  reminiscence  stirs  within  me. 
I  ache  to  be  off. 

As  I  pass  along,  the  high-hole  calls  in  the  distance 
precisely  as  I  have  heard  him  in  the  North.  After  a 


150  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

pause  he  repeats  his  summons.  What  can  be  more 
welcome  to  the  ear  than  these  early  first  sounds ! 
They  have  such  a  margin  of  silence ! 

One  need  but  pass  the  boundary  of  Washington 
city  to  be  fairly  in  the  country,  and  ten  minutes' 
walk  in  the  country  brings  one  to  real  primitive 
woods.  The  town  has  not  yet  overflowed  its  limits 
like  the  great  Northern  commercial  capitals,  and 
Nature,  wild  and  unkempt,  comes  up  to  its  very 
threshold,  and  even  in  many  places  crosses  it. 

The  woods,  which  I  soon  reach,  are  stark  and  still. 
The  signs  of  returning  life  are  so  faint  as  to  be  al- 
most imperceptible,  but  there  is  a  fresh,  earthy  smell 
in  the  air,  as  if  something  had  stirred  here  under  the 
leaves.  The  crows  caw  above  the  wood,  or  walk  about 
the  brown  fields.  I  look  at  the  gray,  silent  trees 
long  and  long,  but  they  show  no  sign.  The  catkins 
of  some  alders  by  a  little  pool  have  just  swelled  per- 
ceptibly ;  and  brushing  away  the  dry  leaves  and  de- 
bris on  a  sunny  slope,  I  discover  the  liverwort  just 
pushing  up  a  fuzzy,  tender  sprout.  But  the  waters 
have  brought  forth.  The  little  frogs  are  musical. 
From  every  marsh  and  pool  goes  up  their  shrill,  but 
pleasing  chorus.  Peering  into  one  of  their  haunts,  a 
little  body  of  semi-stagnant  water,  I  discover  masses 
of  frogs'  spawn  covering  the  bottom.  I  take  up  great 
chunks  of  the  cold,  quivering  jelly  in  my  hands.  In 
some  places  there  are  gallons  of  it.  A  youth  who 
accompanies  me  wonders  if  it  would  not  be  good 
cooked,  or  if  it  could  not  be  used  as  a  substitute  for 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  151 

eggs.  It  is  a  perfect  jelly,  of  a  slightly  milky  tinge, 
thickly  imbedded  with  black  spots  about  the  size  of 
a  small  bird's  eye.  When  just  deposited,  it  is  per- 
fectly transparent.  These  hatch  in  eight  or  ten  days, 
gradually  absorb  their  gelatinous  surroundings,  and 
the  tiny  tadpoles  issue  forth. 

In  the  city,  even  before  the  shop-windows  have 
caught  the  inspiration,  spring  is  heralded  by  the  silver 
poplars,  which  line  all  the  streets  and  avenues.  After 
a  few  mild,  sunshiny  March  days,  you  suddenly  per- 
ceive a  change  has  come  over  the  trees.  Their  tops 
have  a  less  naked  look.  If  the  weather  continues 
warm,  a  single  day  will  work  wonders.  Presently 
the  tree  will  be  one  vast  plume  of  gray,  downy  tas- 
sels, while  not  the  least  speck  of  green  foliage  is  vis- 
ible. The  first  week  in  April  these  long  mimic  cater- 
pillars lie  all  about  the  streets  and  fill  the  gutters. 

The  approach  of  spring  is  also  indicated  by  the 
crows  and  buzzards,  which  rapidly  multiply  in  the  en- 
virons of  the  city,  and  grow  bold  and  demonstrative. 
The  crows  are  abundant  here  all  winter,  but  are  not 
very  noticeable  except  as  they  pass  high  in  air  to  and 
from  their  winter-quarters  in  the  Virginia  woods. 
Early  in  the  morning,  as  soon  as  it  is  light  enough  to 
discern  them,  there  they  are,  streaming  eastward 
across  the  sky,  now  in  loose,  scattered  flocks,  now  in 
thick,  dense  masses,  then  singly  and  in  pairs  or  (rip- 
lets,  but  all  setting  in  one  direction,  probably  to  the 
waters  of  Eastern  Maryland.  Toward  night  they  be- 
gin to  return,  flying  in  the  same  manner,  and  direct- 


152  SPRING   AT    THE   CAPITAL. 

ing  their  course  to  the  wooded  heights  on  the  Poto- 
mac, west  of  the  city.  In  spring  these  diurnal  mass 
movements  cease ;  the  clau  breaks  up,  the  rookery  is 
abandoned,  and  the  birds  scatter  broadcast  over  the 
land.  This  seems  to  be  the  course  everywhere  pur- 
sued. One  would  think  that,  when  food  was  scarcest, 
the  policy  of  separating  into  small  bands  or  pairs,  and 
dispersing  over  a  wide  country,  would  prevail,  as  a 
few  might  subsist  where  a  larger  number  would  starve. 
The  truth  is,  however,  that  in  winter,  food  can  be  had 
only  in  certain  clearly  defined  districts  and  tracts,  as 
along  rivers  and  the  shores  of  bays  and  lakes. 

A  few  miles  north  of  Newburg,  on  the  Hudson,  the 
crows  go  into  winter-quarters  in  the  same  manner, 
flying  south  in  the  morning  and  returning  again  at 
night,  sometimes  hugging  the  hills  so  close  during  a 
strong  wind,  as  to  expose  themselves  to  the  clubs  and 
stones  of  school-boys  ambushed  behind  trees  and 
fences.  The  belated  ones,  that  come  laboring  along 
just  at  dusk,  are  often  so  overcome  by  the  long  jour- 
ney and  the  strong  current,  that  they  seem  almost  on 
the  point  of  sinking  down  whenever  the  wind  or  a 
rise  in  the  ground  calls  upon  them  for  an  extra  effort. 

The  turkey-buzzards  are  noticeable  about  Wash- 
ington as  soon  as  the  season  begins  to  open,  sailing 
leisurely  along  two  or  three  hundred  feet  over  head, 
or  sweeping  low  over  some  common  or  open  space, 
where,  perchance,  a  dead  puppy  or  pig  or  fowl  has 
been  thrown.  Half  a  dozen  will  sometimes  alight 
about  some  such  object  out  on  the  commons,  and  with 


SPRING   AT  THE  CAPITAL.  153 

their  broad  dusky  wings  lifted  up  to  their  full  extent, 
threaten  and  chase  each  other,  while  perhaps  one  or 
two  are  feeding.  Their  wings  are  very  large  and 
flexible,  and  the  slightest  motion  of  them,  while  the 
bird  stands  upon  the  ground,  suffices  to  lift  its  feet 
clear.  Their  movements  when  in  air  are  very  ma- 
jestic and  beautiful  to  the  eye,  being  in  every  resj>ect 
identical  with  those  of  our  common  hen  or  red-tailed 
hawk.  They  sail  along  in  the  same  calm,  effortless, 
interminable  manner,  and  sweep  around  in  the  same 
ample  spirals.  The  shape  of  their  wings  and  tail,  in- 
deed their  entire  effect  against  the  sky,  except  in  size 
and  color,  is  very  nearly  the  same  as  that  of  the  hawk 
mentioned.  A  dozen  at  a  time  may  often  be  seen 
high  in  air,  amusing  themselves  by  sailing  serenely 
round  and  round  in  the  same  circle. 

They  are  less  active  and  vigilant  than  the  hawk  ; 
never  poise  themselves  on  the  wing,  never  dive  and 
gambol  in  the  air,  and  never  swoop  down  upon"  their 
prey ;  unlike  the  hawks  also,  they  appear  to  have  no 
enemies.  The  crow  fights  the  hawk,  and  the  king- 
bird and  crow-blackbird  fight  the  crow ;  but  neither 
takes  any  notice  of  the  buzzard.  He  excites  the 
enmity  of  none,  for  the  reason  that  he  molests  none. 
The  crow  has  an  old  grudge  against  the  hawk,  be- 
cause the  hawk  robs  the  crow's  nest,  and  carries  off 
his  young ;  the  kingbird's  quarrel  with  the  crow  is 
upon  the  same  grounds.  But  the  buzzard  never  at- 
tacks live  game,  or  feeds  upon  new  flesh  when  old 
can  be  had. 


154:  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

In  May,  like  the  crows,  they  nearly  all  disappear 
very  suddenly,  probably  to  their  breeding-haunts  near 
the  sea-shore.  Do  the  males  separate  from  the  fe- 
males at  this  time,  and  go  by  themselves  ?  At  any 
rate,  in  July  I  discovered  that  a  large  number  of 
buzzards  roosted  in  some  woods  near  Rock  Creek, 
about  a  mile  from  the  city  limits  ;  and,  as  they  do 
not  nest  anywhere  in  this  vicinity,  I  thought  they 
might  be  males.  I  happened  to  be  detained  late  in 
the  woods,  watching  the  nest  of  a  flying  squirrel,  when 
the  buzzards,  just  after  sundown,  began  to  come  by 
ones  and  twos  and  alight  in  the  trees  near  me.  Pres- 
ently they  came  in  greater  numbers,  but  from  the 
same  direction  flapping  low  over  the  woods,  and  tak- 
ing up  their  position  in  the  middle  branches.  On 
alighting,  each  one  would  blow  very  audibly  through 
his  nose,  just  as  a  cow  does  when  she  lies  down ;  this 
is  the  only  sound  I  have  ever  heard  the  buzzard 
make.  They  would  then  stretch  themselves  after  the 
manner  of  turkeys,  and  walk  along  the  limbs.  Some- 
times a  decayed  branch  would  break  under  the  weight 
of  two  or  three,  when,  with  a  great  flapping,  they 
would  take  up  new  positions.  They  continued  to 
come  till  it  was  quite  dark,  and  all  the  trees  about 
me  were  full.  I  began  to  feel  a  little  nervous,  but 
kept  my  place.  After  it  was  entirely  dark  and  all 
was  still,  I  gathered  a  large  pile  of  dry  leaves  and 
kindled  it  with  a  match,  to  see  what  they  would  think 
of  -a  fire.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  till  the  pile  of 
leaves  was  in  full  blaze,  when  instantaneously  every 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  155 

buzzard  started.  I  thought  the  tree-tops  were  com- 
ing down  upon  me,  so  great  was  the  uproar.  But 
the  woods  were  soon  cleared,  and  the  loathsome  pack 
disappeared  in  the  night. 

About  the  first  of  June  I  saw  numbers  of  buz- 
zards sailing  around  over  the  great  Falls  of  the  Po- 
tomac. 

A  glimpse  of  the  birds  usually  found  here  in  the 
latter  part  of  winter  may  be  had  in  the  following  ex- 
tract, which  I  take  from  my  diary  under  date  of  Feb- 
ruary 4th :  — 

"  Made  a  long  excursion  through  the  woods  and 
over  the  hills.  Went  directly  north  from  the  Capi- 
tol for  about  three  miles.  The  ground  bare  and  the 
day  cold  and  sharp.  In  the  suburbs,  among  the 
scattered  Irish  and  negro  shanties,  came  suddenly 
upon  a  flock  of  birds,  feeding  about  like  our  North- 
ern snow-buntings.  Every  now  and  then  they  ut- 
tered a  piping  disconsolate  note,  as  if  they  had  a  very 
sorry  time  of  it.  They  proved  to  be  shore-larks,  the 
first  I  had  ever  seen.  They  had  the  walk  character- 
istic of  all  larks  ;  were  a  little  larger  than  the  spar- 
row; had  a  black  spot  on  the  breast,  with  much 
white  on  the  under  parts  of  their  bodies.  As  I  ap- 
proached them  the  nearer  ones  paused,  and,  half 
squatting,  eyed  me  suspiciously.  Presently,  at  a 
movement  of  my  arm,  away  they  went,  flying  exactly 
like  the  snow-bunting,  and  showing  nearly  as  much 
white."  (I  have  since  discovered  that  the  shore-lark 
is  a  regular  visitant  here  in  February  and  March, 


156  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

when  large  quantities  of  them  are  shot  or  trapped, 
and  exposed  for  sale  in  the  market.  During  a  heavy 
snow  I  have  seen  numbers  of  them  feeding  upon  the 
seeds  of  various  weedy  growths  in  a  large  market- 
garden  well  into  town.)  "  Pressing  on,  the  walk  be- 
came exhilarating.  Followed  a  little  brook,  the  east- 
ern branch  of  the  Tiber,  lined  with  bushes  and  a  rank 
growth  of  green  brier.  Sparrows  started  out  here 
and  there  and  flew  across  the  little  bends  and  points. 
Among  some  pines  just  beyond  the  boundary,  saw  a 
number  of  American  goldfinches,  in  their  gray  winter 
dress,  pecking  the  pine-cones.  A  golden-crowned 
kinglet  was  there  also,  a  little  tuft  of  gray  feathers, 
hopping  about  as  restless  as  a  spirit.  Had  the  old 
pine-trees  food  delicate  enough  for  him  also  ?  Far- 
ther on,  in  some  low  open  woods,  saw  many  sparrows, 
—  the  fox,  white-throated,  white-crowned,  the  Can- 
ada, the  song,  the  swamp,  —  all  herding  together 
along  the  warm  and  sheltered  borders.  To  my  sur- 
prise saw  a  cheewink  also,  and  the  yellow-rumped 
warbler.  The  purple  finch  was  there  likewise,  and 
the  Carolina  wren  and  brown  creeper.  In  the  higher, 
colder  woods  not  a  bird  was  to  be  seen.  Returning, 
near  sunset,  across  the  eastern  slope  of  a  hill  which 
overlooked  the  city,  was  delighted  to  see  a  number 
of  grass-finches  or  vesper  sparrows  (  FringiUa  gram- 
inea), — birds  which  will  be  forever  associated  in  my 
mind  with  my  father's  sheep  pastures.  They  ran 
before  me,  now  flitting  a  pace  or  two,  now  skulking 
in  the  low  stubble,  just  as  I  had  observed  them  when 
a  boy." 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  157 

A  month  later,  March  4th,  is  this  note :  — 
"After  the  second  memorable  inauguration  of 
President  Lincoln,  took  my  first  trip  of  the  season. 
The  afternoon  was  very  clear  and  warm,  —  real  ver- 
nal sunshine  at  last,  though  the  wind  roared  like  a 
lion  over  the  woods.  It  seemed  novel  enough  to  find 
within  two  miles  of  the  White  House  a  simple  woods- 
man chopping  away  as  if  no  President  was  being  in- 
augurated !  Some  puppies,  snugly  nestled  in  the 
cavity  of  an  old  hollow  tree,  he  said,  belonged  to  a 
wild  dog.  I  imagine  I  saw  the  '  wild  dog,'  on  the 
other  side  of  Rock  Creek,  in  a  great  state  of  grief 
and  trepidation,  running  up  and  down,  crying  and 
yelping,  and  looking  wistfully  over  the  swollen  flood, 
which  the  poor  thing  had  not  the  courage  to  brave. 
This  day,  for  the  first  time,  I  heard  the  song  of  the 
Canada  sparrow,  a  soft,  sweet  note,  almost  running 
into  a  warble.  Saw  a  small,  black,  velvety  butterfly 
with  a  yellow  border  to  its  wings.  Under  a  warm 
bank  found  two  flowers  of  the  houstonia  in  bloom. 
Saw  frogs'  spawn  near  Piny  Branch,  and  heard  the 
hyla." 

Among  the  first  birds  that  make  their  appearance 
in  "Washington,  is  the  crow-blackbird.  He  may  come 
any  time  after  the  1st  of  March.  The  birds  congre- 
gate in  large  flocks,  and  frequent  groves  and  parks, 
alternately  swarming  in  the  tree-tops  and  filling  the 
air  with  their  sharp  jangle,  and  alighting  on  the 
ground  in  quest  of  food,  their  polished  coats  glisten- 
ing in  the  sun  from  very  blackness,  as  they  walk 


158  SPRING  AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

about.  There  is  evidently  some  music  in  the  soul 
of  this  bird  at  this  season,  though  he  makes  a  sad 
failure  in  getting  it  out..  His  voice  always  sounds  as 
if  he  were  laboring  under  a  severe  attack  of  influ- 
enza, though  a  large  flock  of  them  heard  at  a  dis- 
tance on  a  bright  afternoon  of  early  spring,  produce 
an  effect  not  unpleasing.  The  air  is  filled  with 
crackling,  splintering,  spurting,  semi-musical  sounds, 
—  which  are  like  pepper  and  salt  to  the  ear. 

All  parks  and  public  grounds  about  the  city  are 
full  of  blackbirds.  They  are  especially  plentiful  in 
the  trees  about  the  White  House,  breeding  there  and 
waging  war  on  all  other  birds.  The  occupants  of 
one  of  the  offices  in  the  west  wing  of  the  Treasury 
one  day  had  their  attention  attracted  by  some  object 
striking  violently  against  one  of  the  window-panes. 
Looking  up,  they  beheld  a  crow-blackbird  pausing  in 
mid-air,  a  few  feet  from  the  window.  On  the  broad 
stone  window-sill  lay  the  quivering  form  of  a  purple 
finch.  The  little  tragedy  was  easily  read.  The 
blackbird  had  pursued  the  finch  with  such  murderous 
violence,  that  the  latter,  in  its  desperate  efforts  to  es- 
cape, had  sought  refuge  in  the  Treasury.  The  force 
of  the  concussion  against  the  heavy  plate-glass  of  the 
window  had  killed  the  poor  thing  instantly.  The 
pursuer,  no  doubt  astonished  at  the  sudden  and  novel 
termination  of  the  career  of  its  victim,  hovered  a 
moment,  as  if  to  be  sure  of  what  had  happened,  and 
made  off. 

(It  is  not  unusual  for  birds,  when  thus  threatened 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  159 

with  destruction  by  their  natural  enemy,  to  become 
so  terrified  as  to  seek  safety  in  the  presence  of  man. 
I  was  once  startled,  while  living  in  a  country  vil- 
lage, to  behold,  on  entering  my  room  at  noon,  one 
October  day,  a  quail  sitting  upon  my  bed.  The  af- 
frighted and  bewildered  bird  instantly  started  for  the 
open  window,  into  which  it  had  no  doubt  been  driven 
by  a  hawk.) 

The  crow-blackbird  has  all  the  natural  cunning  of 
his  prototype,  the  crow.  In  one  of  the  inner  courts 
of  the  Treasury  building  there  is  a  fountain  with  sev- 
eral trees  growing  near.  By  midsummer,  the  black- 
birds become  so  bold  as  to  venture  within  this  court. 
Various  fragments  of  food,  tossed  from  the  surround- 
ing windows,  reward  their  temerity.  When  a  crust 
of  dry  bread  defies  their  beaks,  they  have  been  seen 
to  drop  it  into  the  water,  and  when  it  had  become 
soaked  sufficiently,  to  take  it  out  again. 

They  build  a  nest  of  coarse  sticks  and  mud,  the 
whole  burden  of  the  enterprise  seeming  to  devolve 
upon  the  female.  For  several  successive  mornings 
just  after  sunrise,  I  used  to  notice  a  pair  of  them  fly- 
ing to  and  fro  in  the  air  above  me,  as  I  hoed  in  the 
garden,  directing  their  course,  on  the  one  hand,  to  a 
marshy  piece  of  ground  about  half  a  mile  distant, 
and  disappearing  on  their  return,  among  the  trees 
about  the  Capitol.  Returning,  the  female  always  had 
her  beak  loaded  with  building  material,  while  the 
male,  carrying  nothing,  seemed  to  act  as  her  escort, 
flying  a  little  above  and  in  advance  of  her,  and  utter- 


160  SPRING  AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

ing  now  and  then  his  husky,  discordant  note.  As  I 
tossed  a  lump  of  earth  up  at  them  the  frightened 
mother-bird  dropped  her  mortar,  and  the  pair  skurried 
away,  much  put  out.  Later,  they  avenged  themselves 
by  pilfering  my  cherries. 

The  most  mischievous  enemies  of  the  cherries, 
however,  here,  as  at  the  North,  are  the  cedar  wax- 
wings,  or  "  cherry -birds."  How  quickly  they  spy  out 
the  tree!  Long  before  the  cherry  begins  to  turn, 
they  are  around,  alert  and  cautious.  In  small  flocks 
they  circle  about,  high  in  air,  uttering  their  fine  note, 
or  plunge  quickly  into  the  tops  of  remote  trees. 
Day  by  day  they  approach  nearer  and  nearer,  recon- 
noitring the  premises,  and  watching  the  growing  fruit. 
Hardly  have  the  green  lobes  turned  a  red  cheek  to 
the  sun,  before  their  beaks  have  scarred  it.  At  first 
they  approach  the  tree  stealthily,  on  the  side  turned 
from  the  house,  diving  quickly  into  the  branches  in 
ones  and  twos,  while  the  main  flock  is  ambushed  in 
some  shade  tree  not  far  off.  They  are  most  apt  to 
commit  their  depredations  very  early  in  the  morning 
and  on  cloudy,  rainy  days.  As  the  cherries  grow 
sweeter  the  birds  grow  bolder,  till,  from  throwing 
tufts  of  grass,  one  has  to  throw  stones  in  good  ear- 
nest, or  lose  all  his  fruit.  In  June  they  disappear, 
following  the  cherries  to  the  north,  where  by  July, 
they  are  nesting  in  the  orchards  and  cedar  groves. 

Among  the  permanent  summer  residents  here  (one 
might  say  city  residents,  as  they  seem  more  abun- 
dant in  town  than  out),  the  yellow  warbler  or  sum- 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  161 

mer  yellow-bird  is  conspicuous.  He  comes  about  the 
middle  of  April,  and"  seems  particularly  attached  to 
the  silver  poplars.  In  every  street,  and  all  day  long, 
one  may  hear  his  thin,  sharp  warble.  When  nesting, 
the  female  comes  about  the  yard,  pecking  at  the 
clothes-line,  and  gathering  up  bits  of  thread  to  weave 
into  her  nest. 

Swallows  appear  in  Washington  from  the  first  to 
the  middle  of  April.  They  come  twittering  along  in 
the  way  so  familiar  to  every  New  England  boy. 
The  barn  swallow  is  heard  first,  followed  in  a  day  or 
two  by  the  squeaking  of  the  cliff-swallow.  The 
chimney-swallows,  or  swifts,  are  not  far  behind,  and 
remain  here,  in  large  numbers,  the  whole  season. 
The  purple  martins  appear  in  April,  as  they  pass 
north,  and  again  in  July  and  August  on  their  return, 
accompanied  by  their  young. 

The  national  capital  is  situated  in  such  a  vast 
spread  of  wild,  wooded,  or  semi-cultivated  country, 
and  is  in  itself  so  open  and  spacious,  with  its  parks 
and  large  government  reservations,  that  an  unusual 
number  of  birds  find  their  way  into  it  in  the  course 
of  the  season.  Rare  warblers,  as  the  black-poll,  the 
yellow  red-poll,  and  the  bay-breasted,  pausing  in  May 
on  their  northward  journey,  pursue  their  insect  game 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  town. 

I  have  heard  the  veery  thrush  in  the  trees  near 

the  White  House;    and  one  rainy  April  morning, 

about  six  o'clock,  he  came  and  blew  his  soft,  mellow 

flute  in  a  pear-tree  in  my  garden.     The  tones  had  all 

11 


162  SPRING  AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

the  sweetness  and  wildness  they  have  when  heard  in 
June  in  our  deep  Northern  forests.  A  day  or  two 
afterward,  in  the  same  tree,  I  heard  for  the  first  time 
the  song  of  the  golden-crowned  wren,  or  kinglet,  — 
the  same  liquid  bubble  and  cadence  which  characterize 
the  wren-songs  generally,  but  much  finer  and  more 
delicate  than  the  song  of  any  other  variety  known  to 
me  ;  beginning  in  a  fine,  round,  needle-like  note,  and 
rising  into  a  full,  sustained  warble  ;  —  a  strain,  on  the 
whole,  remarkably  exquisite  and  pleasing,  the  singer 
being  all  the  while  as  busy  as  a  bee,  catching  some 
kind  of  insects.  If  the  ruby-crowned  sings  as  well 
(and  no  doubt  it  does),  Audubon's  enthusiasm  con- 
cerning its  song,  as  he  heard  it  in  the  wilds  of  Labra- 
dor, is  not  a  bit  extravagant.  The  song  of  the  kinglet 
is  the  only  characteristic  that  allies  it  to  the  wrens. 

The  Capitol  grounds,  with  their  fine  large  trees  of 
many  varieties  draw  many  kinds  of  birds.  In  the 
rear  of  the  building  the  extensive  grounds  are  pecul- 
iarly attractive,  being  a  gentle  slope,  warm  and  pro- 
tected, and  quite  thickly  wooded.  Here  in  early 
spring  I  go  to  hear  the  robins,  cat-birds,  blackbirds, 
wrens,  etc.  In  March  the  white-throated  and  white- 
crowned  sparrows  may  be  seen,  hopping  about  on 
the  flower-beds  or  peering  slyly  from  the  evergreens. 
The  robin  hops  about  freely  upon  the  grass,  notwith- 
standing the  keeper's  large-lettered  warning,  and  at 
intervals,  and  especially  at  sunset,  carols  from  the 
tree-tops  his  loud  hearty  strain. 

The    kingbird   and   orchard    starling   remain    the 


Sl'KING   AT  THE   CAPITAL.  163 

whole  season,  and  breed  in  the  tree-tops.  The  rich, 
copious  song  of  the  starling  may  be  heard  there  all 
the  forenoon.  The  song  of  some  birds  is  like  scarlet, 
—  strong,  intense,  emphatic.  This  is  the  character 
of  the  orchard  starlings  ;  also  of  the  tanagers  and 
the  various  grossbeaks.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
songs  of  other  birds,  as  of  certain  of  the  thrushes,  sug- 
gests the  serene  blue  of  the  upper  sky. 

In  February,  one  may  hear,  in  the  Smithsonian 
grounds,  the  song  of  the  fox-sparrow.  It  is  a  strong, 
richly  modulated  whistle,  —  the  finest  sparrow  note  I 
have  ever  heard. 

A  curious  and  charming  sound  may  be  heard  here 
in  May.  You  are  walking  forth  in  the  soft  morning 
air,  when  suddenly  there  comes  a  burst  of  bobolink 
melody  from  some  mysterious  source.  A  score  of 
throats  pour  out  one  brief,  hilarious,  tuneful  jubilee, 
and  are  suddenly  silent.  There  is  a  strange  remote- 
ness, and  fascination  about  it.  Presently  you  dis- 
cover its  source  skyward,  and  a  quick  eye  will  detect 
the  gay  band  pushing  northward.  They  seem  to 
scent  the  fragrant  meadows  afar  off,  and  shout  forth 
snatches  of  their  songs  in  anticipation. 

The  bobolink  does  not  breed  in  the  District,  but 
usually  pauses  in  his  journey  and  feeds  during  the 
day  in  the  grass-lands  north  of  the  city.  "When  the 
season  is  backward,  they  tarry  a  week  or  ten  days, 
singing  freely  and  appearing  quite  at  home.  In 
large  flocks  they  search  •  over  every  inch  of  ground, 
and  at  intervals  hover  on  the  wing  or  alight  in  the 


164  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

tree-tops,  all  pouring  forth  their  gladness  at  once, 
and  filling  the  air  with  a  multitudinous  musical 
clamor. 

They  continue  to  pass,  traveling  by  night,  and 
feeding  by  day,  till  after  the  middle  of  May,  when 
they  cease.  In  September,  with  numbers  greatly  in- 
creased, they  are  on  their  way  back.  I  am  first  ad- 
vised of  their  return  by  hearing  their  calls  at  night 
as  they  fly  over  the  city.  On  certain  nights  the 
sound  becQmes  quite  noticeable.  I  have  awakened 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and,  through  the  open 
window,  as  I  lay  in  bed,  heard  their  faint  notes.  The 
warblers  begin  to  return  about  the  same  time,  and 
are  clearly  distinguished  by  their  timid  yeaps.  On 
dark  cloudy  nights  the  birds  seem  confused  by  the 
lights  of  the  city,  and  apparently  wander  about 
above  it. 

In  the  spring  the  same  curious  incident  is  repeated, 
though  but  few  voices  can  be  identified.  I  make  out 
the  snow-bird,  the  bobolink,  the  warblers,  and  on  two 
nights  during  the  early  part  of  May  I  heard  very 
clearly  the  call  of  the  sandpipers. 

Instead  of  the  bobolink,  one  encounters  here,  in 
the  June  meadows,  the  black-throated  bunting,  a  bird 
closely  related  to  the  sparrows,  and  a  very  persistent, 
if  not  a  very  musical  songster.  He  perches  upon  the 
fences  and  upon  the  trees  by  the  roadside,  and, 
spreading  his  tail,  gives  forth  his  harsh  strain,  which 
may  be  roughly  worded  thus  :  fscp  fscp,  fee  fee  fee. 
Like  all  sounds  associated  with  early  summer,  it  soon 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.        165 

1ms  a  charm  to  the  ear  quite  independent  of  its  in- 
trinsic merits. 

Outside  of  the  city  limits,  the  great  point  of  inter- 
est to  the  rambler  and  lover  of  nature  is  the  Rock 
Creek  region.  Rock  Creek  is  a  large,  rough,  rapid 
stream,  which  has  its  source  in  the  interior  of  Mary- 
land, and  flows  into  the  Potomac  between  Washing- 
ton and  Georgetown.  Its  course,  for  five  or  six 
miles  out  of  Washington,  is  marked  by  great  diver- 
sity of  scenery.  Flowing  in  a  deep  vajley,  which 
now  and  then  becomes  a  wild  gorge  with  overhang- 
ing rocks  and  high  precipitous  headlands,  for  the 
most  part  wooded ;  here  reposing  in  long,  dark 
reaches,  there  sweeping  and  hurrying  around  a  sud- 
den bend  or  over  a  rocky  bed ;  receiving  at  short  in- 
tervals small  runs  and  spring  rivulets,  which  open  up 
vistas  and  outlooks  to  the  right  and  left,  of  the  most 
charming  description,  —  Rock  Creek  has  an  abun-. 
dance  of  all  the  elements  that  make  up  not  only  pleas- 
ing, but  wild  and  rugged  scenery.  There  is,  perhaps, 
not  another  city  in  the  Union  that  has  on  its  very 
threshold  so  much  natural  beauty  and  grandeur,  such 
as  men  seek  for  in  remote  forests  and  mountains.  A 
few  touches  of  art  would  convert  this  whole  region, 
extending  from  Georgetown  to  what  is  known  as 
Crystal  Springs,  not  more  than  two  miles  from  the 
present  State  Department,  into  a  park  unequaled  by 
anything  in  the  world.  There  are  passages  between 
these  two  points  as  wild  and  savage,  and  apparently 
as  remote  from  civilization,  as  anything  one  meets 


166  SPRING   AT    THE   CAPITAL. 

with  in  the  mountain  sources  of  the  Hudson  or  the 
Delaware. 

One  of  the  tributaries  to  Rock  Creek  within  this 
limit  is  called  Piny  Branch.  It  is  a  small,  noisy 
brook,  flowing  through  a  valley  of  great  natural 
beauty  and  picturesqueness,  shaded  nearly  all  the  way 
by  woods  of  oak,  chestnut,  and  beech,  and  abounding 
in  dark  recesses  and  hidden  retreats. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  the  many  springs  with 
which  this  whole  region  is  supplied,  each  the  centre 
of  some  wild  nook,  perhaps  the  head  of  a  little  valley 
one  or  two  hundred  yards  long,  through  which  one 
catches  a  glimpse,  or  hears  the  voice  of  the  main  creek 
rushing  along  below. 

My  walks  tend  in  this  direction  more  frequently 
than  in  any  other.  Here  the  boys  go  too,  troops  of 
them,  of  a  Sunday,  to  bathe  and  prowl  around,  and 
indulge  the  semi-barbarous  instincts  that  still  lurk 
within  them.  Life,  in  all  its  forms,  is  most  abundant 
near  water.  The  rank  vegetation  nurtures  the  in- 
sects, and  the  insects  draw  the  birds.  The  first  week 
in  March,  on  some  southern  slope  where  the  sunshine 
lies  warm  and  long,  I  usually  find  the  hepatica  in 
bloom,  though  with  scarcely  an  inch  of  stalk.  In  the 
spring  runs  the  skunk  cabbage  pushes  its  pike  up 
through  the  mould,  the  flower  appearing  first,  as  if 
Nature  had  made  a  mistake. 

It  is  not  till  about  the  1st  of  April  that  many  wild- 
flowers  may  be  looked  for.  By  this  time  the  hepa- 
tica, anemone,  saxifrage,  arbutus,  houstonia,  and  blood- 


SPRING  AT   THE   CAPITAL.  167 

root  may  be  counted  on.  A  week  later,  the  claytonia, 
or  spring  beauty,  water-cress,  violets,  a  low  buttercup, 
vetch,  corydalis,  and  potentilla  appear.  These  com- 
prise most  of  the  April  flowers,  and  may  be  found  in 
great  profusion  in  the  Rock  Creek  and  Piny  Branch 
region. 

In  each  little  valley  or  spring  run  some  one  species 
predominates.  I  know  invariably  where  to  look  for 
the  first  liverwort,  and  where  the  largest  and  finest 
may  be  found.  On  a  dry,  gravelly,  half-wooded  hill- 
slope  the  birds-foot  violet  grows  in  great  abundance, 
and  is  sparse  in  neighboring  districts.  This  flower, 
which  I  never  saw  in  the  North,  is  the  most  beautiful 
and  showy  of  all  the  violets,  and  calls  forth  rapturous 
applause  from  all  persons  who  visit  the  woods.  It 
grows  in  little  groups  and  clusters,  and  bears  a  close 
resemblance  to  the  pansies  of  the  gardens.  Its  two 
purple,  velvety  petals  seem  to  fall  over  tiny  shoulders 
like  a  rich  cape. 

On  the  same  slope,  and  on  no  other,  I  go  about  the 
1st  of  May  for  lupine,  or  sun-dial,  which  makes  the 
ground  look  blue  from  a  little  distance ;  on  the  other, 
or  northern  side  of  the  slope,  the  arbutus,  during  the 
first  half  of  April,  perfumes  the  wild-wood  air.  A 
few  paces  farther  on,  in  the  bottom  of  a  little  spring 
run,  the  mandrake  shades  the  ground  with  its  minia- 
ture umbrellas.  It  begins  to  push  its"  green  finger- 
points  up  through  the  ground  by  the  1st  of  April,  but 
is  not  in  bloom  till  the  1st  of  May.  It  has  a  single 
white,  wax-like  flower,  with  a  sweet,  sickish  odor, 


168  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

growing  immediately  beneath  its  broad  leafy  top.  By 
the  same  run  grow  water-cresses  and  two  kinds  of 
anemones,  —  the  Pennsylvania  and  the  grove  anem- 
one. The  bloodroot  is  very  common  at  the  foot  of  al- 
most every  warm  slope  in  the  Rock  Creek  woods,  and, 
where  the  wind  has  tucked  it  up  well  with  the  cover- 
lid of  dry  leaves,  makes  its  appearance  almost  as  soon 
as  the  liverwort.  It  is  singular  how  little  warmth  is 
necessary  to  encourage  these  earlier  flowers  to.  put 
forth  !  It  would  seem  as  if  some  influence  must  come 
on  in  advance  underground  and  get  things  ready,  so 
that  when  the  outside  temperature  is  propitious,  they 
at  once  venture  out.  I  have  found  the  bloodroot 
when  it  was  still  freezing  two  or  three  nights  in  the 
week  ;  and  have  known  at  least  three  varieties  of 
early  flowers  to  be  buried  in  eight  inches  of  snow. 

Another  abundant  flower  in  the  Rock  Creek  region 
is  the  spring  beauty.  Like  most  others  it  grows  in 
streaks.  A  few  paces  from  where  your  attention  is 
monopolized  by  violets  or  arbutus,  it  is  arrested  by 
the  claytonia,  growing  in  such  profusion  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  set  the  foot  down  without  crushing  the 
flowers.  Only  the  forenoon  walker  sees  them  in  all 
their  beauty,  as  later  in  the  day  their  eyes  are  closed, 
and  their  pretty  heads  drooped  in  slumber.  In  only 
one  locality  do  I  find  the  ladies'-slipper,  —  a  yellow 
variety.  The  flowers  that  overleap  all  bounds  in  this 
section  are  the  houstonias.  By  the  1st  of  April  they 
are  very  noticeable  in  warm,  damp  places  along  the 
borders  of  the  woods  and  in  half-cleared  fields,  but  by 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  169 

May  these  localities  are  clouded  with  them.  They 
become  visible  from  the  highway  across  wide  fields, 
and  look  like  little  puffs  of  smoke  clinging  close  to 
the  ground. 

On  the  1st  of  May  I  go  to  the  Rock  Creek  or  Piny 
Branch  region  to  hear  the  wood-thrush.  I  always 
find  him  by  this  date  leisurely  chanting  his  lofty 
strain ;  other  thrushes  are  seen  now  also,  or  even 
earlier,  as  Wilson's,  the  olive-backed,  the  hermit, — 
the  two  latter  silent,  but  the  former  musical. 

Occasionally  in  the  earlier  part  of  May  I  find  the 
woods  literally  swarming  with  warblers,  exploring 
every  branch  and  leaf,  from  the  tallest  tulip  to  the 
lowest  spice-bush,  so  urgent  is  the  demand  for  food 
during  their  long  Northern  journeys.  At  night  they 
are  up  and  away.  Some  varieties,  as  the  blue  yellow- 
back, the  chestnut-sided,  and  the  Blackburnian,  during 
their  brief  stay,  sing  nearly  as  freely  as  in  their  breed- 
ing haunts.  For  two  or  three  years  I  have  chanced 
to  meet  little  companies  of  the  bay-breasted  warbler, 
searching  for  food  in  an  oak  wood,  on  an  elevated 
piece  of  ground.  They  kept  well  up  among  the 
branches,  were  rather  slow  in  their  movements,  and 
evidently  disposed  to  tarry  but  a  short  time. 

The  summer  residents  here,  belonging  to  this  class 
of  birds,  are  few.  I  have  observed  the  black  and 
white  creeping  warbler,  the  Kentucky  warbler,  the 
worm  eating  warbler,  the  redstart,  and  the  gnat- 
catcher,  breeding  near  Rock  Creek. 

Of  these  the  Kentucky  warbler  is  by  far  the  most 


170        SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

interesting,  though  quite  rare.  I  meet  with  him  in 
low,  damp  places  in  the  woods,  usually  on  the  steep 
sides  of  some  little  run.  I  hear  at  intervals  a  clear, 
strong,  bell-like  whistle  or  warble,  and  presently  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  bird  as  he  jumps  up  from  the  ground 
to  take  an  insect  or  worm  from  the  under  side  of  a 
leaf.  This  is  his  characteristic  movement.  He  be- 
longs to  the  class  of  ground  warblers,  and  his  range 
is  very  low,  indeed  lower  than  that  of  any  other 
species  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  He  is  on  the 
ground  nearly  all  the  time,  moving  rapidly  along, 
taking  spiders  and  bugs,  overturning  leaves,  peeping 
under  sticks  and  into  crevices,  and  every  now  and 
then  leaping  up  eight  or  ten  inches,  to  take  his  game 
from  beneath  some  overhanging  leaf  or  branch.  Thus 
each  species  has  its  range  more  or  less  marked.  Draw 
a  line  three  feet  from  the  ground,  and  you  mark  the 
usual  limit  of  the  Kentucky  warbler's  quest  for  food. 
Six  or  eight  feet  higher  bounds  the  usual  range  of 
such  birds  as  the  worm-eating  warbler,  the  mourning 
ground  warbler,  the  Maryland  yellow-throat.  The 
lower  branches  of  the  higher  growths  and  the  higher 
branches  of  the  lower  growths  are  plainly  preferred 
by  the  black-throated  blue-backed  warbler,  in  those 
localities  where  he  is  found.  The  thrushes  feed  mostly 
on  and  near  the  ground,  while  some  of  the  vireos  and 
the  true  fly-catchers  explore  the  highest  branches. 
But  the  Sylviada?,  as  a  rule,  are  all  partial  to  thick, 
rank  undergrowths. 

The  Kentucky  warbler  is  a  large  bird  for  the  genus, 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  171 

and  quite  notable  in  appearance.  His  back  is  clear 
olive-green ;  his  throat  and  breast  bright  yellow.  A 
still  more  prominent  feature  is  a  black  streak  on  the 
side  of  the  face,  extending  down  the  neck. 

Another  familiar  bird  here,  which  I  never  met  with 
in  the  North,  is  the  gnatcatcher,  called  by  Audubon 
the  blue  gray  fly-catching  warbler.  In  form  and  man- 
ner it  seems  almost  a  duplicate  of  the  cat-bird,  on  a 
small  scale.  It  mews  like  a  young  kitten,  erects  its 
tail,  flirts,  droops  its  wings,  goes  through  a  variety  of 
motions  when  disturbed  by  your  presence,  and  in 
many  ways  recalls  its  dusky  prototype.  Its  color 
above  is  a  light,  gray  blue,  gradually  fading  till  it 
becomes  white  on  the  breast  and  belly.  It  is  a  very 
small  bird,  and  has  a  long,  facile,  slender  tail.  Its 
song  is  a  lisping,  chattering,  incoherent  warble,  now 
faintly  reminding  one  of  the  goldfinch,  now  of  a  min- 
iature cat-bird,  then  of  a  tiny  yellow-hammer,  having 
much  variety,  but  no  unity,  and  little  cadence. 

Another  bird  which  has  interested  me  here  is  the 
Louisiana  water-thrush,  called  also  large-billed  water- 
thrush,  and  water-wagtail.  It  is  one  of  a  trio  of  birds 
which  has  confused  the  ornithologists  much.  The 
other  two  species  are  the  well-known  golden-crowned 
thrush  (Sciurus  aurocapillus)  or  wood-wagtail,  and 
the  Northern,  or  small,  water-thrush  (Sci^lrus  nove- 
boracensts). 

The  present  species,  though  not  abundant,  is  fre- 
quently met  with  along  Rock  Creek.  It  is  a  very 
quick,  vivacious  bird,  and  belongs  to  the  class  of  ec- 


172  SPRING   AT    THE   CAPITAL. 

static  singers.  I  have  seen  a  pair  of  these  thrushes, 
on  a  bright  May  day,  flying  to  and  fro  between  two 
spring  runs,  alighting  at  intermediate  points,  the  male 
breaking  out  into  one  of  the  most  exuberant,  unpre- 
meditated strains  I  ever  heard.  Its  song  is  a  sudden 
burst,  beginning  with  three  or  four  clear  round  notes 
much  resembling  certain  tones  of  the  clarionet,  and 
terminating  in  a  rapid,  intricate  warble. 

This  bird  resembles  a  thrush  only  in  its  color, 
which  is  olive-brown  above,  and  grayish-white  be- 
neath, with  speckled  throat  and  breast.  Its  habits, 
manners,  and  voice  suggest  those  of  the  lurk. 

I  seldom  go  the  Rock  Creek  route  without  being 
amused  and  sometimes  annoyed  by  the  yellow-breasted 
chat.  This  bird  also  has  something  of  the  manners 
and  build  of  the  cat-bird,  yet  he  is  truly  an  original. 
The  cat-bird  is  mild  and  feminine  compared  with  this 
rollicking  polyglot.  His  voice  is  very  loud  and  strong 
and  quite  uncanny.  No  sooner  have  you  penetrated 
his  retreat,  which  is  usually  a  thick  undergrowth  in 
low,  wet  localities,  near  the  woods  or  in  old  fields, 
than  he  begins  his  serenade,  which  for  the  variety, 
grotesqueness,  and  uncouthness  of  the  notes,  is  not 
unlike  a  country  skimmerton.  If  one  passes  directly 
along,  the  bird  may  scarcely  break  the  silence.  But 
pause  a  while  or  loiter  quietly  about,  and  your  presence 
stimulates  him  to  do  his  best.  He  peeps  quizzically 
at  you  from  beneath  the  branches,  and  gives  a  sharp 
feline  mew.  In  a  moment  more  he  says  very  dis- 
tinctly, who,  who.  Then  in  rapid  succession  follow 


SPRING    AT   TI1K   CAPITAL.  173 

notes  the  most  discordant  that  ever  broke  the  sylvan 
silence.  Now  he  barks  like  a  puppy,  then  quacks 
like  a  duke,  then  rattles  like  a  kingfisher,  then  squalls 
like  a  fox,  then  caws  like  a  crow,  then  mews  like  a 
cat.  Now  he  calls  as  if  to  be  heard  a  long  way  off, 
then  changes  his  key,  as  if  addressing  the  specta- 
tor. Though  very  shy,  and  carefully  keeping  himself 
screened  when  you  show  any  disposition  to  get  a  bet- 
ter view,  he  will  presently,  if  you  remain  quiet,  ascend 
a  twig,  or  hop  out  on  a  branch  in  plain  sight,  lop  his 
tail,  droop  his  wings,  cock  his  head,  and  become  very 
melodramatic.  In  less  than  half  a  minute  he  darts 
into  the  bushes  again,  and  again  tunes  up,  no  French- 
man rolling  his  r's  so  fluently.  C-r-r-r-r-r, — whrr, 
—  that  '*  it,  —  chee,  —  quack,  cluck,  —  yit-yil-yit,  — 
now  hit  it,  —  tr-r-r-r,  —  when,  —  caw,  caw,  —  cut, 
cut,  —  tea-boy,  —  who,  who,  —  mew,  mew,  —  and  so  on 
till  you  are  tired  of  listening.  Observing  one  very 
closely  one  day,  I  discovered  that  he  was  limited  to 
six  notes  or  changes,  which  he  went  through  in  reg- 
ular order,  scarcely  varying  a  note  in  a  dozen  repe- 
titions. Sometimes,  when  a  considerable  distance  off, 
he  will  fly  down  to  have  a  nearer  view  of  you.  And 
such  a  curious,  expressive  flight,  —  legs  extended, 
head  lowered,  wings  rapidly  vibrating,  the  whole 
action  piquant  and  droll ! 

The  chat  is  an  elegant  bird  both  in  form  and  color. 
Its  plumage  is  remarkably  firm  and  compact  Color 
above,  light  olive-green ;  beneath,  bright  yellow ; 
beak,  black  and  strong. 


174  Sl'RING   AT   THE  CAPITAL. 

The  cardinal  grossbeak,  or  Virginia  red-bird,  is 
quite  common  in  the  same  localities,  though  more  in- 
clined to  seek  the  woods.  It  is  much  sought  after 
by  bird-fanciers,  and  by  boy  gunners,  and  conse- 
quently is  very  shy.  This  bird  suggests  a  British 
red-coat ;  his  heavy,  pointed  beak,  his  high  cockade, 
the  black  stripe  down  his  face,  the  expression  of 
weight  and  massiveness  about  his  head  and  neck,  and 
his  erect  attitude,  give  him  a  decided  soldierlike  ap- 
pearance ;  and  there  is  something  of  the  tone  of  the 
fife  in  his  song  or  whistle,  while  his  ordinary  note, 
when  disturbed,  is  like  the  clink  of  a  sabre.  Yester- 
day, as  I  sat  indolently  swinging  in  the  loop  of  a 
grape-vine,  beneath  a  thick  canopy  of  green  branches, 
in  a  secluded  nook  by  a  spring  run,  one  of  these  birds 
came  pursuing  some  kind  of  insect,  but  a  few  feet 
above  me.  He  hopped  about,  now  and  then  uttering 
his  sharp  note,  till,  some  moth  or  beetle  trying  to 
escape,  he  broke  down  through  the  cover  almost 
where  I  sat.  The  effect  was  like  a  firebrand  coming 
down  through  the  branches.  Instantly  catching  sight 
of  me,  he  darted  away  much  alarmed.  The  female  is 
tinged  with  brown,  and  shows  but  little  red  except 
when  she  takes  flight. 

By  far  the  most  abundant  species  of  woodpecker 
about  Washington  is  the  red-headed.  It  is  more 
common  than  the  robin.  Not  in  the  deep  woods,  but 
among  the  scattered  dilapidated  oaks  and  groves,  on 
the  hills  and  in  the  fields,  I  hear,  almost  every  day, 
his  uncanny  note,  ktr-rr,  ktr-r-r,  like  that  of  some 


SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL.  175 

4arger  tree-toad,  proceeding  from  an  oak  grove  just 
beyond  the  boundary.  He  is  a  strong  scented  fellow, 
and  very  tough.  Yet  how  beautiful,  as  he  flits  about 
the  open  woods,  connecting  the  trees  by  a  gentle  arc 
of  crimson  and  white  !  This  is  another  bird  with  a 
military  look.  His  deliberate,  dignified  ways,  and  his 
bright  uniform  of  red,  white,  and  steel-blue,  bespeak 
him  an  officer  of  rank. 

Another  favorite  beat  of  mine  is  northeast  of  the 
city.  Looking  from  the  Capitol  in  this  direction, 
scarcely  more  than  a  mile  distant,  you  see  a  broad 
green  hill-slope,  falling  very  gently,  and  spreading 
into  a  large  expanse  of  meadow-land.  The  summit, 
if  so  gentle  a  swell  of  greensward  may  be  said  to  have 
a  summit,  is  covered  with  a  grove  of  large  oaks;  and, 
sweeping  back  out  of  sight  like  a  mantle,  the  front 
line  of  a  thick  forest  bounds  the  sides.  This  emerald 
landscape  is  seen  from  a  number  of  points  in  the  city. 
Looking  along  New  York  Avenue  from  Northern 
Liberty  Market,  the  eye  glances,  as  it  were,  from  the 
red  clay  of  the  street,  and  alights  upon  this  fresh 
scene  in  the  distance.  It  is  a  standing  invitation  to 
the  citizen  to  come  forth  and  be  refreshed.  As  I  turn 
from  some  hot,  hard  street,  how  inviting  it  looks !  I 
bathe  my  eyes  in  it  as  in  a  fountain.  Sometimes 
troops  of  cattle  are  seen  grazing  upon  it.  In  June 
the  gathering  of  the  hay  may  be  witnessed.  When 
the  ground  is  covered  with  snow,  numerous  stacks,  or 
clusters  of  stacks,  are  still  left  for  the  eye  to  contem- 
plate. 


176  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

The  woods  which  clothe  the  east  side  of  this  hill, 
and  sweep  away  to  the  east,  are  among  the  most 
charming  to  be  found  in  the  District.  The  main 
growth  is  oak  and  chestnut,  with  a  thin  sprinkling 
of  laurel,  azelia,  and  dogwood.  It  is  the  only  locality 
in  which  I  have  found  the  dog-tooth  violet  in  bloom, 
and  the  best  place  J  know  of  to  gather  arbutus.  On 
one  .slope  the  ground  is  covered  with  moss,  through 
which  the  arbutus  trails  its  glories. 

Emerging  from  these  woods  toward  the  city,  one 
sees  the  white  dome  of  the  Capitol  soaring  over  the 
green  swell  of  earth  immediately  in  front,  and  lifting 
its  four  thousand  tons  of  iron  gracefully  and  lightly 
into  the  air.  Of  all  the  sights  in  Washington,  that 
which  will  survive  longest  in  my  memory  is  the 
vision  of  the  great  dome  thus  rising  cloud-like  above 
the  hills. 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 


Cardinal   Grosibeak. 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

THE  region  of  which  I  am  about  to  speak  lies  in 
the  southern  part  of  the  State  of  New  York,  and 
comprises  parts  of  three  counties,  —  Ulster,  Sullivan, 
and  Delaware.  It  is  drained  by  tributaries  of  both 
the  Hudson  and  Delaware,  and,  next  to  the  Adiron- 
dac  section,  contains  more  wild  land  than  any  other 
tract  in  the  State.  The  mountains  which  traverse  it, 
and  impart  to  it  its  severe  northern  climate,  belong 
properly  to  the  Catskill  range.  On  some  maps  of 
the  State  they  are  called  the  Pine  Mountains,  though 
with  obvious  local  impropriety,  as  pine,  so  far  as  I 


180  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

have  observed,  is  nowhere  found  upon  them.  "  Birch 
Mountains  "  would  be  a  more  characteristic  name,  as 
on  their  summits  birch  is  the  prevailing  tree.  They 
are  the  natural  home  of  the  black  and  yellow  birch, 
which  grow  here  to  unusual  size.  On  their  sides 
beech  and  maple  abound  ;  while  mantling  their  lower 
slopes,  and  darkening  the  valleys,  hemlock  formerly 
enticed  the  lumberman  and  tanner.  P^xcept  in  re- 
mote or  inaccessible  localities,  the  latter  tree  is  now 
almost  never  found.  In  Shandaken  and  along  the 
Esopus,  it  is  about  the  only  product  the  country 
yielded,  or  is  likely  to  yield.  Tanneries«by  the  score 
have  arisen  and  flourished  upon  the  bark,  and  some 
of  them  still  remain.  Passing  through  that  region 
the  present  season,  I  saw  that  the  few  patches  of 
hemlock  that  still  lingered  high  up  on  the  sides  of 
the  mountains  were  being  felled  and  peeled,  the  fresh 
vrhite  bowls  of  the  trees,  just  stripped  of  their  bark, 
being  visible  a  long  distance. 

Among  these  mountains  there  are  no  sharp  peaks, 
or  abrupt  declivities,  as  in  a  volcanic  region,  but  long, 
uniform  ranges,  heavily  timbered  to  their  summits, 
and  delighting  the  eye  with  vast,  undulating  horizon 
lines.  Looking  south  from  the  heights  about  the 
head  of  the  Delaware,  one  sees,  twenty  miles  away, 
a  continual  succession  of  blue  ranges,  one  behind  the 
other.  If  a  few  large  trees  are  missing  on  the  sky 
line,  one  can  see  the  break  a  long  distance  off. 

Approaching  this  region  from  the  Hudson  River 
side,  you  cross  a  rough,  rolling  stretch  of  country, 


BIRCH    BROWSINGS.  181 

skirting  the  base  of  the  Catskills,  which  from  a  point 
near  Saugerties  sweep  inland ;  after  a  drive  of  a  few 
hours  you  are  within  the  shadow  of  a  high,  bold 
mountain,  which  forms  a  sort  of  but-end  to  this  part 
of  the  range,  and  which  is  simply  called  High  Point. 
To  the  east  and  southeast  it  slopes  down  rapidly  to 
the  plain,  and  looks  defiance  toward  the  Hudson, 
twenty  miles  distant ;  in  the  rear  of  it,  and  radiating 
from  it  west  and  northwest,  are  numerous  smaller 
ranges,  backing  up,  as  it  were,  this  haughty  chief. 

From  this  point  through  to  Pennsylvania,  a  dis- 
tance of  nearly  one  hundred  miles,  stretches  the  tract 
of  which  I  speak.  It  is  a  belt  of  country  from  twenty 
to  thirty  miles  wide,  bleak  and  wild,  and  but  sparsely 
settled.  The  traveler  on  the  New  York  and  Erie 
Railroad  gets  a  glimpse  of  it. 

Many  cold,  rapid  trout  streams,  which  flow  to  all 
points  of  the  compass,  have  their  source  in  the  small 
lakes  and  copious  mountain  springs  of  this  region. 
The  names  of  some  of  them  are  Mill  Brook.  Dry 
Brook,  Willewemack,  Beaver  Kill,  Elk  Bush  Kill, 
Panther  Kill,  Neversink,  Big  Ingin,  and  Callikoon. 
Beaver  Kill  is  the  main  outlet  on  the  west.  It  joins 
the  Delaware  in  the  wilds  of  Hancock.  The  Never- 
sink lays  open  the  region  to  the  south,  and  also  joins 
the  Delaware.  To  the  east,  various  Kills  unite  with 
the  Big  Ingin  to  form  the  Esopus,  which  flows  into 
the  Hudson.  Dry  Brook  and  Mill  Brook,  both  fa- 
mous trout  streams,  from  twelve  to  fifteen  miles  long} 
find  their  way  into  the  Delaware. 


182  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

The  east  or  Pepacton  branch  of  the  Delaware  it- 
self takes  its  rise  near  here,  in  a  deep  pass  between 
the  mountains.  I  have  many  times  drunk  at  a  copious 
spring  by  the  roadside,  where  the  infant  river  first  sees 
the  light.  A  few  yards  beyond,  the  water  flows  the 
other  way,  directing  its  course  through  the  Bear  Kill 
and  Schoharie  Kill  into  the  Mohawk. 

Such  game  and  wild  animals  as  still  linger  in  the 
State,  are  found  in  this  region.  Bears  occasionally 
make  havoc  among  the  sheep.  The  clearings  at  the 
head  of  a  valley  are  oftenest  the  scene  of  their  depre- 
dations. 

Wild  pigeons,  in  immense  numbers,  used  to  breed 
regularly  in  the  valley  of  the  Big  Ingin  and  about 
the  head  of  the  Neversink.  The  tree-tops  for  miles 
were  full  of  their  nests,  while  the  going  and  coming 
of  the  old  birds  kept  up  a  constant  din.  But  the 
gunners  soon  got  wind  of  it,  and  from  far  and  near 
were  wont  to  pour  in  during  the  spring,  and  to 
slaughter  both  old  and  young.  This  practice  soon 
had  the  effect  of  driving  the  pigeons  all  away,  and 
now  only  a  few  pairs  breed  in  these  woods. 

Deer  are  still  met  with,  though  they  are  becoming 
scarcer  every  year.  Last  winter  near  seventy  head 
were  killed  on  the  Beaver  Kill  alone.  I  heard  of 
one  wretch,  who,  finding  the  deer  snowbound,  walked 
up  to  them  on  his  snowshoes,  and  one  morning  be- 
fore breakfast  slaughtered  six,  leaving  their  carcasses 
where  they  fell.  There  are  traditions  of  persons 
having  been  smitten  blind  or  senseless  when  about  to 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  183 

commit  some  heinous  offense,  but  the  fact  that  this 
villain  escaped  without  some  such  visitation  throws 
discredit  on  all  such  stories. 

The  great  attraction,  however,  of  this  region,  is  the 
brook  trout,  with  which  the  streams  and  lakes  abound. 
The  water  is  of  excessive  coldness,  the  thermometer 
indicating  44°  and  45°  in  the  springs,  and  47°  or 
48°  in  the  smaller  streams.  The  trout  are  generally 
small,  but  in  the  more  remote  branches  their  number 
is  very  great.  In  such  localities  the  fish  are  quite 
black,  but  in  the  lakes  they  are  of  a  lustre  and  brill- 
iancy impossible  to  describe. 

These  waters  have  been  much  visited  of  late  years 
by  fishing  parties,  and  the  name  of  Beaver  Kill  is 
now  a  potent  word  among  New  York  sportsmen. 

One  lake,  in  the  wilds  of  Callikoon,  abounds  in  a 
peculiar  species  of  white  sucker,  which  is  of  excellent 
quality.  It  is  taken  only  in  spring,  during  the 
spawning  season,  at  the  time  "  when  the  leaves  are 
as  big  as  a  chipmunk's  ears."  The  fish  run  up  the 
small  streams  and  inlets,  beginning  at  nightfall,  and 
continuing  till  the  channel  is  literally  packed  with 
them,  and  every  inch  of  space  is  occupied.  The 
fishermen  pounce  upon  them  at  such  times,  and  scoop 
them  up  by  the  bushel,  usually  wading  right  into  the 
living  mass  and  landing  the  fish  with  their  hands. 
A  small  party  will  often  secure  in  this  manner  a 
wagon  .load  of  fish.  Certain  conditions  of  the 
weather,  as  a  warm  south  or  southwest  wind,  are 
considered  most  favorable  for  the  fish  to  run. 


184  BIRCH    BROWSINGS. 

Though  familiar  all  my  life  with  the  outskirts  of 
this  region,  I  have  only  twice  dipped  into  its  wilder 
portions.  Once  in  I860  a  friend  and  myself  traced 
the  Beaver  Kill  to  its  source,  and  encamped  by  Bal- 
sam Lake.  A  cold  and  protracted  rain-storm  coming 
on,  we  were  obliged  to  leave  the  woods  before  we 
were  ready.  Neither  of  us  will  soon  forget  that 
tramp  by  an  unknown  route  over  the  mountains,  en- 
cumbered as  we  were  with  a  hundred  and  one  super- 
fluities which  we  had  foolishly  brought  along  to  solace 
ourselves  with  in  the  woods ;  nor  that  halt  on  the 
summit,  where  we  cooked  and  ate  our  fish  in  a  driz- 
zling rain  ;  nor,  again,  that  rude  log-house,  with  its 
sweet  hospitality,  which  we  reached  just  at  nighfall 
on  Mill  Brook.  * 

In  1868  a  party  of  three  of  us  set  out  for  a  brief 
trouting  excursion,  to  a  body  of  water  called  Thomas's 
Lake,  situated  in  the  same  chain  of  mountains.  On 
this  excursion,  more  particularly  than  on  any  other 
I  have  ever  undertaken,  I  was  taught  how  poor  an 
Indian  I  should  make,  and  what  a  ridiculous  figure  a 
party  of  men  may  cut  in  the  woods  when  the  way  is 
uncertain  and  the  mountains  high. 

We  left  our  team  at  a  farm-house  near  the  head  of 
the  Mill  Brook,  one  June  afternoon,  and  witli  knap- 
sacks on  our  shoulders  struck  into  the  woods  at  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  hoping  to  cross  the  range  that 
intervened  between  us  and  the  lake  by  sunset.  "We 
engaged  a  good-natured,  but  rather  indolent  young 
man,  who  happened  to  be  stopping  at  the  house,  and 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  185 

who  had  carried  a  knapsack  in  the  Union  armies,  to 
pilot  us  a  couple  of  miles  into  the  woods  so  as  to 
guard  against  any  mistakes  at  the  outset  It  seemed 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  find  the  lake.  The 
lay  of  the  land  was  so  simple,  according  to  accounts, 
that  I  felt  sure  I  could  go  to  it  in  the  dark.  "  Go  up 
this  little  brook  to  its  source  on  the  side  of  the  mount- 
ain," they  said.  "  The  valley  that  contains  the  lake 
heads  directly  on  the  other  side."  What  could  be 
easier !  But  on  a  little  further  inquiry,  they  said  we 
should  u  bear  well  to  the  left "  when  we  readied  the 
top  of  the  mountain.  This  opened  the  doors  again  ; 
"  bearing  well  to  the  left  "  was  an  uncertain  perform- 
ance in  strange  woods.  We  might  bear  so  well  to 
the  left  that  it  would  bring  us  ill.  But  why  bear  to 
the  left  at  all,  if  the  lake  was  directly  opposite  ? 
Well,  not  quite  opposite ;  a  little  to  the  left.  There 
were  two  or  three  other  valleys  that  headed  in  near 
there.  We  could  easily  find  the  right  one.  But  to 
make  assurance  doubly  sure,  we  engaged  a  guide,  as 
stated,  to  give  us  a  good  start,  and  go  with  us  beyond 
the  bearing-to-the-left  point.  He  had  been  to  the 
lake  the  winter  before  and  knew  the  way.  Our 
course,  the  first  half-hour,  was  along  an  obscure 
wood-road  which  had  been  used  for  drawing  ash  logs 
off  the  mountain  in  winter.  There  was  some  hem- 
lock, but  more  maple  and  birch.  The  woods  were 
dense  and  free  from  underbrush,  the  ascent  gradual. 
Most  of  the  way  we  kept  the  voice  of  the  creek  in 
our  ear  on  the  right.  I  approached  it  once,  and 


186  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

found  it  swarming  with  tront.  The  water  was  as 
cold  as  one  ever  need  wish.  After  a  while  the  ascent 
grew  steeper,  the  creek  became  a  mere  rill  that  issued 
from  beneath  loose,  moss-covered  rocks  and  stones, 
and  with  much  labor  and  puffing  we  drew  ourselves 
up  the  rugged  declivity.  Every  mountain  has  its 
steepest  point,  which 'is  usually  near  the  summit,  in 
keeping,  I  suppose,  with  the  providence  that  makes 
the  darkest  hour  just  before  day.  It  is  steep,  steeper, 
steepest,  till  you  emerge  on  the  smooth,  level  or 
gently  rounded  space  at  the  top,  which  the  old  ice- 
gods  polished  off  so  long  ago. 

We  found  this  mountain  had  a  hollow  in  its  back 
where  the  ground  was  soft  and  swampy.  Some  gi- 
gantic ferns,  which  we  passed  through,  came  nearly 
to  our  shoulders.  We  passed  also  several  patches  of 
swamp  honeysuckles,  red  with  blossoms. 

Our  guide  at  length  paused  on  a  big  rock  where 
the  land  began  to  dip  down  the  other  way,  and  con- 
cluded that  he  had  gone  far  enough,  and  that  we 
would  now  have  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  lake.  "  It 
must  lie  right  down  there,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his 
hand.  But  it  was  plain  that  he  was  not  quite  sure  in 
his  own  mind.  He  had  several  times  wavered  in  his 
course,  and  had  shown  considerable  embarrassment 
when  bearing  to  the  left  across  the  summit.  Still 
we  thought  little  of  it.  We  were  full  of  confidence, 
and,  bidding  him  adieu,  plunged  down  the  mountain- 
side, following  a  spring  run  that  we  had  no  doubt  led 
to  the  lake. 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  187 

In  these  woods,  which  had  a  southeastern  expos- 
ure, I  first  began  to  notice  the  wood-thrush.  In 
coming  up  the  other  side  I  had  not  seen  a  feather 
of  any  kind,  or  heard  a  note.  Now  the  golden 
trillide-de  of  the  wood  thrush  sounded  through  the 
silent  woods.  While  looking  for  a  fish-pole  about 
half-way  down  the  mountain,  I  saw  a  thrush's  nest  in 
a  little  sapling  about  ten  feet  from  the  ground. 

After  continuing  our  descent  till  our  only  guide, 
the  spring  run,  became  quite  a  trout  brook,  and  its 
tiny  murmur  a  loud  brawl,  we  began  to  peer  anx- 
iously through  the  trees  for  a  glimpse  of  the  lake,  or 
for  some  conformation  of  the  land  that  would  indicate 
its  proximity.  An  object  which  we  vaguely  discerned 
in  looking  under  the  near  trees  and  over  the  more 
distant  ones,  proved,  on  further  inspection,  to  be  a 
patch  of  ploughed  ground.  Presently  we  made  out  a 
burnt  fallow  near  it.  This  was  a  wet  blanket  to  our 
enthusiasm.  No  lake,  no  sport,  no  trout  for  supper 
that  night.  The  rather  indolent  young  man  had 
either  played  us  a  trick,  or,  as  seemed  more  likely, 
had  missed  the  way.  We  were  particularly  anxious 
to  be  at  the  lake  between  sundown  and  dark,  as  at 
that  time  the  trout  jump  most  freely. 

Pushing  on,  we  soon  emerged  into  a  stumpy  field, 
at  the  head  of  a  steep  valley,  which  swept  around 
toward  the  west  About  two  hundred  rods  below  us 
was  a  rude  log-house,  with  smoke  issuing  from  the 
chimney.  A  boy  came  out  and  moved  toward  the 
spring  with  a  pail  in  his  hand.  We  shouted  to  him, 


188  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

when  he  turned  and  ran  back  into  the  house  without 
pausing  to  reply.  In  a  moment  the  whole  family 
hastily  rushed  into  the  yard,  and  turned  their  faces 
toward  us.  If  we  had  come  down  their  chimney,  they 
could  not  have  seemed  more  astonished.  Not  making 
out  what  they  said,  I  went  down  to  the  house,  and 
learned  to  my  chagrin  that  we  were  still  on  the  Mill 
Brook  side,  having  crossed  only  a  spur  of  the  mount- 
ain. We  had  not  borne  sufficiently  to  the  left,  so 
that  the  main  range,  which,  at  the  point  of  crossing, 
suddenly  breaks  off  to  the  southeast,  still  intervened 
between  us  and  the  lake.  We  were  about  five  miles, 
as  the  water  runs,  from  the  point  of  starting,  and  over 
two  from  the  lake.  We  must  go  directly  back  to  the 
top  of  the  range  where  the  guide  had  left  us,  and 
then,  by  keeping  well  to  the  left,  we  would  soon  come 
to  a  line  of  marked  trees,  which  would  lead  us  to  the 
lake.  So  turning  upon  our  trail,  we  doggedly  began 
the  work  of  undoing  what  we  had  just  done,  —  in  all 
cases  a  disagreeable  task,  in  this  case  a  very  laborious 
one  also.  It  was  after  sunset  when  we  turned  back, 
and  before  we  had  got  half-way  up  the  mountain  it 
began  to  be  quite  dark.  We  were  often  obliged  to 
rest  our  packs  against  trees  and  take  breath,  which 
made  our  progress  slow.  Finally  a  halt  was  called, 
beside  an  immense  flat  rock  which  had  paused  in  its 
slide  down  the  mountain,  and  we  prepared  to  encamp 
for  the  night.  A  fire  was  built,  the  rock  cleared  off, 
a  small  ration  of  bread  served  out,  our  accoutrements 
hung  up  out  of  the  way  of  the  hedgehogs  that  were 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  189 

suppose  1  to  infest  the  locality,  and  then  we  disposed 
ourselves  for  sleep.  If  the  owls  or  porcupines  (and 
I  think  I  heard  one  of  the  latter  in  the  middle  of  the 
night)  reconnoitred  our  camp,  they  saw  a  buffalo 
robe  spread  upon  a  rock,  with  three  old  felt  hats  ar- 
ranged on  one  side,  and  three  pairs  of  sorry-looking 
cowhide  boots  protruding  from  the  other. 

When  we  lay  down,  there  was  apparently  not  a 
mosquito  in  the  woods  ;  but  the  "  no-see-ems,"  as 
Thoreau's  Indian  aptly  named  the  midges,  soon  found 
us  out,  and  after  the  fire  had  gone  down  annoyed  us 
much.  My  hands  and  wrists  suddenly  began  to  smart 
and  itch  in  a  most  unaccountable  manner.  My  first 
thought  was  that  they  had  been  poisoned  in  some  way. 
Then  the  smarting  extended  to  my  neck  and  face, 
even  to  my  scalp,  when  I  began  to  suspect  what  was 
the  matter.  So  wrapping  myself  up  more  thoroughly, 
and  stowing  my  hands  away  as  best  I  could,  I  tried 
to  sleep,  being  some  time  behind  my  companions,  who 
appeared  not  to  mind  the  "  no-see-ems."  I  was  fur- 
ther annoyed  by  some  little  irregularity  on  my  side 
of  the  couch.  The  chambermaid  had  not  beaten  it 
up  well.  One  huge  lump  refused  to  be  mollified,  and 
each  attempt  to  adapt  it  to  some  natural  hollow  in 
my  own  body  brought  only  a  moment's  relief.  But 
at  last  I  got  the  better  of  this  also  and  slept.  Late 
in  the  night  I  woke  up,  just  in  time  to  hear  a  golden- 
crowned  thrush  sing  in  a  tree  near  by.  It  sang  as 
loud  and  cheerily  as  at  midday,  and  I  thought  myself, 
after  all,  quite  in  luck.  Birds  occasionally  sing  at 


190  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

night,  just  as  the  cock  crows.  I  have  heard  the  hair- 
bird,  and  the  note  of  the  king-bird ;  and  the  ruffed 
grouse  frequently  drums  at  night. 

At  the  first  faint  signs  of  day,  a  wood-thrush  sang 
a  few  rods  below  us.  Then  after  a  little  delay,  as 
the  gray  light  began  to  grow  around,  thrushes  broke 
out  in  full  song  in  all  parts  of  the  woods.  I  thought 
I  had  never  before  heard  them  sing  so  sweetly.  Such 
a  leisurely,  golden  chant !  —  it  consoled  us  for  all  we 
had  undergone.  It  was  the  first  thing  in  order,  — 
the  worms  were  safe  till  after  this  morning  chorus. 
I  judged  that  the  birds  roosted  but  a  few  feet  from 
the  ground.  In  fact,  a  bird  in  all  cases  roosts  where 
it  builds,  and  the  wood-thrush  occupies,  as  it  were, 
the  first  story  of  the  woods. 

There  is  something  singular  about  the  distribution 
of  the  wood-thrushes.  At  an  earlier  stage  of  my  ob- 
servations I  should  have  been  much  surprised  at  find- 
ing it  in  these  woods.  Indeed,  I  had  stated  in  print 
on  two  occasions  that  the  wood-thrush  was  not  found 
in  the  higher  lands  of  the  Catskills,  but  that  the  her- 
mit-thrush and  the  veery,  or  Wilson's  thrush,  were 
common.  It  turns  out  that  this  statement  is  only 
half  true.  The  wood-thrush  is  found  also,  but  is 
much  more  rare  and  secluded  in  its  habits  than  either 
of  the  others,  being  seen  only  during  the  breeding 
season  on  remote  mountains,  and  then  only  on  their 
eastern  and  southern  slopes.  I  have  never  yet  in 
this  region  found  the  bird  spending  the  season  in  the 
near  and  familiar  woods,  which  is  directly  contrary 


BIRCH   BBOWSINGS.  191 

to  observations  I  have  made  in  other  parts  of  the 
State.  So  different  are  the  habits  of  birds  in  differ- 
ent localities. 

As  soon  as  it  was  fairly  light  we  were  up  and 
ready  to  resume  our  march.  A  small  bit  of  bread- 
and-butter  and  a  swallow  or  two  of  whiskey  was  all 
we  had  for  breakfast  that  morning.  Our  supply  of 
each  was  very  limited,  and  we  were  anxious  to  save 
a  little  of  both,  to  relieve  the  diet  of  trout  to  which 
we  looked  forward.  . 

At  an  early  hour  we  reached  the  rock  where  we 
had  parted  with  the  guide,  and  looked  around  us  into 
the  dense,  trackless  woods  with  many  misgivings. 
To  strike  out  now  on  our  own  hook,  where  the  way 
was  so  blind  and  after  the  experience  we  had  just  had? 
was  a  step  not  to  be  carelessly  taken.  The  tops  of 
these  mountains  are  so  broad,  and  a  short  distance  hi 
the  woods  seems  so  far,  that  one  is  by  no  means  mas- 
ter of  the  situation  after  reaching  the  summit.  And 
then  there  are  so  many  spurs  and  offshoots  and 
changes  of  direction,  added  to  the  impossibility  of 
making  any  generalization  by  the  aid  of  the  eye,  that 
before  one  is  aware  of  it  he  is  very  wide  of  his  mark. 

I  remembered  now  that  a  young  farmer  of  my  ac- 
quaintance had  told  me  how  he  had  made  a  long  day's 
march  through  the  heart  of  this  region,  without  path 
or  guide  of  any  kind,  and  had  hit  his  mark  squarely. 
He  had  been  bark-peeling  in  Callikoon,  —  a  famous 
country  for  bark,  —  and,  having  got  enough  of  it,  he 
desired  to  reach  his  home  on  Dry  Brook  without 


192  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

making  the  usual  circuitous  journey  between  the  two 
places.  To  do  this  necessitated  a  march  of  ten  or 
twelve  miles  across  several  ranges  of  mountains  and 
through  an  unbroken  forest,  —  a  hazardous  under- 
taking in  which  no  one  would  join  him.  Even  the 
old  hunters  who  were  familiar  with  the  ground  dis- 
suaded him  and  predicted  the  failure  of  his  enterprise. 
But  having  made  up  his  mind,  he  possessed  himself 
thoroughly  of  the  topography  of  the  country  from  the 
aforesaid  hunters,  shouldered  his  axe,  and  set  out, 
holding  a  straight  course  through  the  woods,  and 
turning  aside  for  neither  swamps,  streams,  nor  mount- 
ains. When  he  paused  to  rest  he  would  mark  some 
object  ahead  of  him  with  his  eye,  in  order  that  on 
getting  up  again  he  might  not  deviate  from  his 
course.  His  directors  had  told  him  of  a  hunter's 
cabin  about  midway  on  his  route,  which  if  he  struck 
he  might  be  sure  he  was  right.  About  noon  this 
cabin  was  reached,  and  at  sunset  he  emerged  at  the 
head  of  Dry  Brook. 

After  looking  in  vain  for  the  line  of  marked  trees, 
we  moved  off  to  the  the  left  in  a  doubtful,  hesitating 
manner,  keeping  on  the  highest  ground  and  blazing 
the  trees  as  we  went.  We  were  afraid  to  go  down 
hill,  lest  we  should  descend  too  soon  ;  our  vantage- 
ground  was  high  ground.  A  thick  fog  coming  on, 
we  were  more  bewildered  than  ever.  Still  we  pressed 
forward,  climbing  up  ledges  and  wading  through 
ferns  for  about  two  hours,  when  we  paused  by  a 
spring  that  issued  from  beneath  an  immense  wall  of 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  193 

rock  that  belted  the  highest  part  of  the  mountain. 
There  was  quite  a  broad  plateau  here,  and  the  birch 
wood  was  very  dense,  and  the  trees  of  unusual  size. 

After  resting  and  exchanging  opinions,  we  all  con- 
cluded thut  it  was  best  not  to  continue  our  search  en- 
cumbered as  we  were ;  but  we  were  not  willing  to 
abandon  it  altogether,  and  I  proposed  to  my  com- 
panions to  leave  them  beside  the  spring  with  our 
traps,  while  I  made  one  thorough  and  final  effort  to 
find  the  lake.  If  I  succeeded  and  desired  them  to 
come  forward,  I  was  to  fire  my  gun  three  times ;  if  I 
failed  and  wished  to  return,  I  would  fire  it  twice,  they, 
of  course  responding. 

So  filling  my  canteen  from  the  spring,  I  set  out 
again,  taking  the  spring  run  for  my  guide.  Before  I 
had  followed  it  two  hundred  yards  it  sank  into  the 
ground  at  my  feet.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  be  super- 
stitious and  to  believe  that  we  were  under  a  spell, 
since  our  guides  played  us  such  tricks.  However,  I 
determined  to  put  the  matter  to  a  further  test,  and 
struck  out  boldly  to  the  left.  This  seemed  to  be  the 
keyword,  —  to  the  left,  to  the  left.  The  fog  had  now 
lifted,  so  that  I  could  form  a  better  idea  of  the  lay  of 
the  land.  Twice  I  looked  down  the  steep  sides  of 
the  mountain,  sorely  tempted  to  risk  a  plunge.  Still 
I  hesitated  and  kept  along  on  the  brink.  As  I  stood 
on  a  rock  deliberating,  I  heard  a  crackling  of  the 
brush,  like  the  tread  of  some  large  game,  on  a  plateau 
below  me.  Suspecting  the  truth  of  the  case,  I  moved 
stealthily  down,  and  found  a  herd  of  young  cattle 
U 


194  BIRCH    BROWSINGS. 

leisurely  browsing.  We  had  several  times  crossed 
their  trail,  and  had  seen  that  morning  a  level,  grassy 
place  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  they  had 
passed  the  night.  Instead  of  being  frightened,  as  I 
had  expected,  they  seemed  greatly  delighted,  and 
gathered  around  me  as  if  to  inquire  the  tidings  from 
the  outer  world, — perhaps  the  quotations  of  the  cat- 
tle market.  They  came  up  to  me,  and  eagerly  licked 
my  hand,  clothes,  and  gun.  Salt  was  what  they  were 
after,  and  they  were  ready  to  swallow  anything  that 
contained  the  smallest  percentage  of  it.  They  were 
mostly  yearlings  and  as  sleek  as  moles.  They  had  a 
very  gamy  look.  We  were  afterwards  told  that,  in 
the  spring,  the  farmers  round  about  turn  into  these 
woods  their  young  cattle,  which  do  not  come  out  again 
till  fall.  They  are  then  in  good  condition,  —  not  fat, 
like  grass-fed  cattle,  but  trim  and  supple,  like  deer. 
Once  a  month  the  owner  hunts  them  up  and  salts 
them.  They  have  their  beats,  and  seldom  wander 
beyond  well-defined  limits.  It  was  interesting  to  see 
them  feed.  They  browsed  on  the  low  limbs  and 
bushes,  and  on  the  various  plants,  munching  at  every- 
thing without  any  apparent  discrimination. 

They  attempted  to  follow  me,  but  I  escaped  them 
by  clambering  down  some  steep  rocks.  I  now  found 
myself  gradually  edging  down  the  side  of  the  mount- 
ain, keeping  around  it  in  a  spiral  manner,  and  scan- 
ning the  woods  and  the  shape  of  the  ground  for  some 
encouraging  hint  or  sign.  Finally  the  woods  became 
more  open,  and  the  descent  less  rapid.  The  trees 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  195 

were  remarkably  straight  and  uniform  in  size.  Black 
birches,  the  first  I  had  seen,  were  very  numerous.  I 
felt  encouraged.  Listening  attentively,  I  caught 
from  a  breeze  just  lifting  the  drooping  leaves,  a 
sound  that  I  willingly  believed  was  mode  by  a  bull- 
frog. On  this  hint,  I  tore  down  through  the  woods 
at  my  highest  speed.  Then  I  paused  and  listened 
again.  This  time  there  was  no  mistaking  it ;  it  was 
the  sound  of  frogs.  Much  elated,  I  rushed  on.  By 
and  by  I  could  hear  them  as  I  ran.  Pthrung,  pthrung, 
croaked  the  old  ones  ;  pug-,  pug,  shrilly  joined  in  the 
smaller  fry. 

Then  I  caught,  through  the  lower  trees,  a  gleam 
of  blue,  which  I  first  thought  was  distant  sky.  A  sec- 
ond look  and  I  knew  it  to  be  water,  and  in  a  moment 
more  I  stepped  from  the  woods  and  stood  upon  the 
shore  of  the  lake.  I  exulted  silently.  There  it  was 
at  last,  sparkling  in  the  morning  sun,  and  as  beautiful 
as  a  dream.  It  was  so  good  to  come  upon  such  open 
space  and  such  bright  hues,  after  wandering  in  the 
dim,  dense  woods  !  The  eye  is  as  delighted  as  an  es- 
caped bird,  and  darts  gleefully  from  point  to  point. 

The  lake  was  a  long  oval,  scarcely  more  than  a 
mile  in  circumference,  with  evenly  wooded  shores, 
which  rose  gradually  on  all  sides.  After  contem- 
plating the  scene  for  a  moment,  I  stepped  back  into 
the  woods  ami  loading  my  gun  as  heavily  as  I  dared, 
discharged  it  three  times.  The  reports  seemed  to  fill 
all  the  mountains  with  sound.  The  frogs  quickly 
hushed,  and  I  listened  for  the  response.  But  no  re- 


196  BIRCH    BROWSINGS. 

sponse  came.  Then  I  tried  again,  and  again,  but 
without  evoking  an  answer.  One  of  my  companions, 
however,  who  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  high 
rocks  in  the  rear  of  the  spring  thought  he  heard 
faintly  one  report.  It  seemed  an  immense  distance 
below  him,  and  far  around  under  the  mountain.  I 
knew  I  had  come  a  long  way,  and  hardly  expected  to 
be  able  to  communicate  with  my  companions  in  the 
manner  agreed  upon.  I  therefore  started  back,  choos- 
ing my  course  without  any  reference  to  the  circuitous 
route  by  which  I  had  come,  and  loading  heavily  and 
firing  at  intervals.  I  must  have  aroused  many  long- 
dormant  echoes  from  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  sleep.  As 
my  powder  got  low,  I  fired  and  halloed  alternately, 
till  I  came  near  splitting  both  my  throat  and  gun. 
Finally,  after  I  had  begun  to  have  a  very  ugly  feel- 
ing of  alarm  and  disappointment,  arid  to  cast  about 
vaguely  for  some  course  to  pursue  in  the  emergency 
that  seemed  near  at  hand,  —  namely,  the  loss  of  my 
companions  now  I  had  found  the  lake,  —  a  favoring 
breeze  brought  me  the  last  echo  of  a  response.  I  re- 
joined with  spirit,  and  hastened  with  all  speed  in  the 
direction  whence  the  sound  had  come,  but  after  re- 
peated trials,  failed  to  elicit  another  answering  sound. 
This  filled  me  with  apprehension  again.  I  feared 
that  my  friends  had  been  misled  by  the  reverber- 
ations, and  I  pictured  them  to  myself  hastening  in  the 
opposite  direction.  Paying  little  attention  to  my 
course,  but  paying  dearly  for  my  carelessness  after- 
ward, I  rushed  forward  to  undeceive  them.  But  they 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  197 

had  not  been  deceived,  and  in  a  few  moments  an  an- 
swering shout  revealed  them  near  at  hand.  I  heard 
their  tramp,  the  bushes  parted,  and  we  three  met 
again. 

In  answer  to  their  eager  inquiries,  I  assured  them 
that  I  had  seen  the  lake,  that  it  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  and  that  we  could  not  miss  it  if  we  kept 
straight  down  from  where  we  then  were. 

My  clothes  were  soaked  with  perspiration,  but  I 
shouldered  my  knapsack  with  alacrity,  and  we  began 
the  descent.  I  noticed  that  the  woods  were  much 
thicker,  and  had  quite  a  different  look  from  those  I 
had  passed  through,  but  thought  nothing  of  it,  as  I 
expected  to  strike  the  lake  near  its  head,  whereas  I 
had  before  come  out  at  its  foot.  We  had  not  gone 
far  when  we  crossed  a  line  of  marked  trees,  which  my 
companions  were  disposed  to  follow.  It  intersected 
our  course  nearly  at  right  angles,  and  kept  along  and 
up  the  side  of  the  mountain.  My  impression  was  that 
it  led  up  from  the  lake,  and  that  by  keeping  our  own 
course  we  should  reach  the  lake  sooner  than  if  we 
followed  this  line. 

About  half-way  down  the  mountain,  we  could  see 
through  the  interstices  the  opposite  slope.  I  encour- 
aged my  comrades  by  telling  them  that  the  lake  was 
between  us  and  that,  and  not  more  than  half  a  mile 
distant  We  soon  reached  the  bottom,  where  we 
found  a  small  stream  and  quite  an  extensive  alder- 
swamp,  evidently  the  ancient  bed  of  a  lake.  I  ex- 
plained to  my  half-vexed  and  half-incredulous  com- 


198  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

panioiis  that  we  were  probably  above  the  lake,  and 
that  this  stream  must  lead  to  it.  "  Follow  it,"  they 
said  ;  "  we  will  wait  here  till  we  hear  from  you." 

So  I  went  on,  more  than  ever  disposed  to  believe 
that  we  were  under  a  spell,  and  that  the  lake  had 
slipped  from  my  grasp  after  all.  Seeing  no  favorable 
sign  as  I  went  forward,  I  laid  down  my  accoutre- 
ments, and  climbed  a  decayed  beech  that  leaned  out 
over  the  swamp  and  promised  a  good  view  from  the 
top.  As  I  stretched  myself  up  to  look  around  from 
the  highest  attainable  branch,  there  was  suddenly  a 
loud  crack  at  the  root.  With  a  celerity  that  would 
at  least  have  done  credit  to  a  bear,  I  regained  the 
ground,  having  caught  but  a  momentary  glimpse  of 
the  country,  but  enough  to  convince  me  no  lake  was 
near.  Leaving  all  incumbrances  here  but  my  gun,  1 
still  pressed  on,  loath  to  be  thus  baffled.  After 
floundering  through  another  alder-swamp  for  nearly 
half  a  mile,  I  flattered  myself  that  I  was  close  on  to 
the  lake.  I  caught  sight  of  a  low  spur  of  the  mount- 
ain sweeping  around  like  a  half  extended  arm,  and  I 
fondly  imagined  that  within  its  clasp  was  the  object 
of  my  search.  But  I  found  only  more  alder-swamp. 
After  this  region  was  cleared,  the  creek  began  to 
descend  the  mountain  very  rapidly-  Its  banks  be- 
came high  and  narrow,  and  it  went  whirling  away 
with  a  sound  that  seemed  to  my  ears  like  a  burst  of 
ironical  laughter.  I  turned  back  with  a  feeling  of 
mingled  disgust,  shame,  and  vexation.  In  fact  I  was 
almost  sick,  and  when  I  reached  my  companions,  after 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  199 

an  absence  of  nearly  two  hours,  hungry,  fatigued,  and 
disheartened,  I  would  have  sold  my  interest  in  Thom- 
as's Lake  at  a  very  low  figure.  For  the  first  time,  I 
heartily  wished  myself  well  out  of  the  woods.  Thomas 
might  keep  his  lake,  and  the  enchanters  guard  his 
possession !  I  doubted  if  he  had  ever  found  it  the  sec- 
ond time,  or  if  any  one  else  ever  had. 

My  companions  who  were  quite  fresh,  and  who 
had  not  felt  the  strain  of  baffled  purpose  as  I  had, 
assumed  a  more  encouraging  tone.  After  I  had 
rested  a  while,  and  partaken  sparingly  of  the  bread 
and  whiskey,  which  in  such  an  emergency  is  a  great 
improvement  on  bread  and  water,  I  agreed  to.  their 
proposition  that  we  should  make  another  attempt. 
As  if  to  reassure  us,  a  robin  sounded  his  cheery  call 
near  by,  and  the  winter-wren,  the  first  I  had  heard 
in  these  woods,  set  his  music-box  going,  which  fairly 
ran  over  with  fine,  gushing,  lyrical  sounds.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  but  this  bird  is  one  of  our  finest 
songsters.  If  it  would  only  thrive  and  sing  well 
when  caged,  like  the  canary,  how  far  it  would  sur- 
pass that  bird  !  It  has  all  the  vivacity  and  versatil- 
ity of  the  canary,  without  any  of  its  shrillness.  Its 
song  is  indeed  a  little  cascade  of  melody. 

We  again  retraced  our  steps,  rolling  the  stone,  as 
it  were,  back  up  the  mountain,  determined  to  commit 
ourselves  to  the  line  of  marked  trees.  These  we 
finally  reached,  and,  after  exploring  the  country  to 
the  right,  saw  that  bearing  to  the  left  was  still  the 
order.  The  trail  led  up  over  a  gentle  rise  of  ground, 


200  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

and  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  we  were  in  the  woods 
I  had  passed  through  when  I  found  the  lake.  The 
error  I  had  made  was  then  plain  ;  we  had  come  off 
the  mountain  a  few  paces  too  far  to  the  right,  and  so 
had  passed  down  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  ridge,  into 
what  we  afterwards  learned  was  the  valley  of  Alder 
Creek. 

We  now  made  good  time,  and  before  many  minutes 
I  again  saw  the  mimic  sky  glance  through  the  trees. 
As  we  approached  the  lake  a  solitary  woodchuck,  the 
first  wild  animal  we  had  seen  since  entering  the 
woods,  sat  crouched  upon  the  root  of  a  tree  a  few 
feet  from  the  water,  apparently  completed  nonplussed 
by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  danger  on  the  land 
side.  All  retreat  was  cut  off,  and  he  looked  his  fate 
in  the  face  without  flinching.  I  slaughtered  him  just 
as  a  savage  would  have  done,  and  from  the  same  mo- 
tive, —  I  wanted  his  carcass  to  eat. 

The  mid-afternoon  sun  was  now  shining  upon  the 
lake,  and  a  low,  steady  breeze  drove  the  little  waves 
rocking  to  the  shore.  A  herd  of  cattle  were  brows- 
ing on  the  other  side,  and  the  bell  of  the  leader 
sounded  across  the  water.  In  these  solitudes  its 
clang  was  wild  and  musical. 

To  try  the  trout  was  the  first  thing  in  order.  On 
a  rude  raft  of  logs  which  we  found  moored  at  the 
shore,  and  which  with  two  aboard  shipped  about  a 
foot  of  water,  we  floated  out  and  wet  our  first  fly  in 
Thomas's  Lake  ;  but  the  trout  refused  to  jump,  and, 
to  be  frank,  not  more  than  a  dozen  and  a  half  were 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  201 

caught  during  our  stay.  Only  a  week  previous,  a 
party  of  three  had  taken  in  a  few  hours  all  the  fish 
they  could  carry  out  of  the  woods,  and  had  nearly 
surfeited  their  neighbors  with  trout.  But  from  some 
cause  they  now  refused  to  rise,  or  to  touch  any  kind 
of  bait :  so  we  fell  to  catching  the  sun-fish  which  were 
small  but  very  abundant.  Their  nests  were  all  along 
shore.  A  space  about  the  size  of  a  breakfast-plate 
was  cleared  of  sediment  and  decayed  vegetable  mat- 
ter, revealing  the  pebbly  bottom,  fresh  and  bright, 
with  one  or  two  fish  suspended  over  the  centre  of  it. 
keeping  watch  and  ward.  If  an  intruder  approached, 
they  would  dart  at  him  spitefully.  These  fish  have 
the  air  of  bantam  cocks,  and  with  their  sharp,  prickly 
fins  and  spines,  and  scaly  sides,  must  be  ugly  custom- 
ers in  a  hand  to  hand  encounter  with  other  finny 
warriors.  To  a  hungry  man  they  look  about  as  un- 
promising as  hemlock  slivers,  so  thorny  and  thin  are 
they ;  yet  there  is  sweet  meat  in  them,  as  we  found 
that  clay. 

Much  refreshed,  I  set  out  with  the  sun  low  in  the 
west  to  explore  the  outlet  of  the  lake  and  try  for 
trout  there,  while  my  companions  made  further  trials 
in  the  lake  itself.  The  outlet,  as  is  usual  in  bodies 
of  water  of  this  kind,  was  very  gentle  and  private. 
The  stream,  six  or  eight  feet  wide,  flowed  silently  and 
evenly  along  for  a  distance  of  three  or  four  rods, 
when  it  suddenly,  as  if  conscious  of  its  freedom,  took 
a  leap  down  some  rocks.  Thence,  as  far  as  I  fol- 
lowed it,  its  descent  was  very  rapid,  through  a  con- 


202  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

tinuous  succession  of  brief  falls  like  so  many  steps 
down  the  mountain.  Its  appearance  promised  more 
trout  than  I  found,  though  I  returned  to  camp  with  a 
very  respectable  string. 

Toward  sunset  I  went  round  to  explore  the  inlet, 
and  found  that  as  usual  the  stream  wound  leisurely 
through  marshy  ground.  The  water  being  much 
colder  than  in  the  outlet,  the  trout  were  more  plenti- 
ful. As  I  was  picking  my  way  over  the  miry  ground 
and  through  the  rank  growths,  a  ruffed  grouse  hopped 
up  on  a  fallen  branch  a  few  paces  before  me,  and, 
jerking  his  tail,  threatened  to  take  flight.  But  as  I 
was  at  that  moment  gunless  and  remained  stationary, 
he  presently  jumped  down  and  walked  away. 

A  seeker  of  birds,  and  ever  on  the  alert  for  some 
new  acquaintance,  my  attention  was  arrested,  on  first 
entering  the  swamp,  by  a  bright,  lively  song,  or  war- 
ble, that  issued  from  the  branches  overhead,  and  that 
was  entirely  new  to  me,  though  there  was  something 
in  the  tone  of  it  that  told  me  the  bird  was  related  to 
the  wood-wagtail  and  to  the  water- wagtail  or  thrush. 
The  strain  was  emphatic  and  quite  loud,  like  the 
canary's,  but  very  brief.  The  bird  kept  itself  well 
secreted  in  the  upper  branches  of  the  trees  and  for  a 
long  time  eluded  my  eye.  I  passed  to  and  fro  sev- 
eral times,  and  it  seemed  to  break  out  afresh  as  I  ap- 
proached a  certain  little  bend  in  the  creek,  and  to 
cease  after  I  had  got  beyond  it ;  no  doubt  its  nest 
was  somewhere  in  the  vicinity.  After  some  delay 
the  bird  was  sighted  and  brought  down.  It  proved 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  203 

to  be  the  small,  or  Northern,  water-thrush  (called  also 
the  New  York  water-thrush)  —  a  new  bird  to  me. 
In  size  it  was  noticeably  smaller  than  the  large,  or 
Louisiana,  water-thrush,  as  described  by  Audubon, 
but  in  other  respects  its  general  appearance  was  the 
same.  It  was  a  great  treat  to  me,  and  again  I  felt 
myself  in  luck. 

This  bird  was  unknown  to  the  older  ornithologists, 
and  is  but  poorly  described  by  the  new.  It  builds  a 
mossy  nest  on  the  ground,  or  under  the  edge  of  a  de- 
cayed log.  A  correspondent  writes  me  that  he  has 
found  it  breeding  on  the  mountains  in  Pennsylvania. 
The  large-billed  water-thrush  is  much  the  superior 
songster,  but  the  present  species  has  a  very  bright 
and  cheerful  strain.  The  specimen  I  saw,  contrary 
to  the  habits  of  the  family,  kept  in  the  tree-tops  like 
a  warbler,  and  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  catching  in- 
sects. 

The  birds  were  unusually  plentiful  and  noisy  about 
the  head  of  this  lake ;  robins,  blue  jays,  and  wood- 
peckers greeted  me  with  their  familiar  notes.  The 
blue  jays  found  an  owl  or  some  wild  animal  a  short 
distance  above  me,  and,  as  is  their  custom  on  such 
occasions,  proclaimed  it  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
and  kept  on  till  the  darkness  began  to  gather  in  the 
woods. 

I  also  heard  here,  as  I  had  at  two  or  three  other 
points  in  the  course  of  the  day,  the  peculiar,  resonant 
hammering  of  some  species  of  woodpecker  upon  the 
hard,  dry  limbs.  It  was  unlike  any  sound  of  the  kind 


204  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

I  had  ever  before  heard,  and,  repeated  at  intervals 
through  the  silent  woods,  was  a  very  marked  and 
characteristic  feature.  Its  peculiarity  was  the  ordered 
succession  of  the  raps,  which  gave  it  the  character  of 
a  premeditated  performance.  There  were  first  three 
strokes  following  each  other  rapidly,  then  two  much 
louder  ones  with  longer  intervals  between  them.  I 
heard  the  drumming  here,  and  the  next  day  at  sunset 
at  Furlow  Lake,  the  source  of  Dry  Brook,  and  in  no 
instance  was  the  order  varied.  There  was  melody  in 
it,  such  as  a  woodpecker  knows  how  to  evoke  from  a 
smooth,  dry  branch.  It  suggested  something  quite 
as  pleasing  as  the  liveliest  bird-song,  and  was  if  any- 
thing more  woodsy  and  wild.  As  the  yellow-bellied 
woodpecker  was  the  most  abundant  species  in  these 
woods  I  attributed  it  to  him.  It  is  the  one  sound 
that  still  links  itself  with  those  scenes  in  my  mind. 

At  sunset  the  grouse  began  to  drum  in  all  parts  of 
the  woods  about  the  lake.  I  could  hear  five  at  one 
time,  thump,  thump,  thump,  thump,  t/ir-r-r-r-r-r-rr. 
It  was  a  homely,  welcome  sound.  As  I  returned  to 
camp  at  twilight,  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  the 
frogs  also  were  in  full  chorus.  The  older  ones  ripped 
out  their  responses  to  each  other  with  terrific  force 
and  volume.  I  know  of  no  other  animal  capable  of 
giving  forth  so  much  sound,  in  proportion  to  its  size, 
as  a  frog.  Some  of  these  seemed  to  bellow  as  loud 
as  a  two-year-old  bull.  They  were  of  immense  size, 
and  very  abundant.  No  frog-eater  had  ever  been 
there.  Near  the  shore  we  felled  a  tree  which  reached 


BIRCH    BROWSINGS.  205 

far  out  in  the  lake.  Upon  the  tnmk  and  branches 
the  frogs  had  soon  collected  in  large  numbers,  and 
gamboled  and  splashed  about  the  half-submerged  top, 
like  a  parcel  of  school-boys,  making  nearly  as  much 
noise. 

After  dark,  as  I  was  frying  the  fish,  a  panful  of 
the  largest  trout  was  accidentally  capsized  in  the  fire. 
With  rueful  countenances  we  contemplated  the  irrep- 
arable loss  our  commissariat  had  sustained  by  this 
mishap  ;  but  remembering  there  was  virtue  in  ashes, 
we  poked  the  half-consumed  fish  from  the  bed  of  coals 
and  ate  them,  and  they  were  good. 

We  lodged  that  night  on  a  brush-heap  and  slept 
soundly.  The  green,  yielding  beech-twigs,  covered 
with  a  buffalo  robe,  were  equal  to  a  hair  mattress. 
The  heat  and  smoke  from  a  large  fire  kindled  in  the 
afternoon  had  banished  every  "  no-see-em  "  from  the 
locality,  and  in  the  morning  the  sun  was  above  the 
mountain  before  we  awoke. 

I  immediately  started  again  for  the  inlet,  and  went 
far  up  the  stream  toward  its  source.  A  fair  string  of 
trout  for  breakfast  was  my  reward.  The  cattle  with 
the  bell  were  at  the  head  of  the  valley,  where  they 
had  passed  the  night.  Most  of  them  were  two-year- 
old  steers.  They  came  up  to  me  and  begged  for  salt, 
and  scared  the  fish  by  their  importunities. 

We  finished  our  bread  that  morning,  and  ate  every 
fish  we  could  catch,  and  about  ten  o'clock  prepared 
to  leave  the  lake.  The  weather  had  been  admirable, 
and  the  lake  was  a  gem,  and  I  would  gladly  have 


206  BIRCH    BROWSINGS. 

spent  a  week  in  the  neighborhood ;  but  the  question 
of  supplies  was  a  serious  one,  and  would  brook  no 
delay. 

When  we  reached,  on  our  return,  the  point  where 
we  had  crossed  the  line  of  marked  trees  the  day  be- 
fore, the  question  arose  whether  we  should  still  trust 
ourselves  to  this  line,  or  follow  our  own  trail  back  to 
the  spring  and  the  battlement  of  rocks  on  the  top  of 
the  mountain,  and  thence  to  the  rock  where  the 
guide  had  left  us.  We  decided  in  favor  of  the  former 
course.  After  a  march  of  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
the  blazed  trees  ceased,  and  we  concluded  we  were 
near  the  point  at  which  we  had  parted  with  the  guide. 
So  we  built  a  fire,  laid  down  our  loads,  and  cast  about 
on  all  sides  for  some  clew  as  to  our  exact  locality. 
Nearly  an  hour  was  consumed  in  this  manner  and 
without  any  result.  I  came  upon  a  brood  of  young 
grouse,  which  diverted  me  for  a  moment.  The  old 
one  blustered  about  at  a  furious  rate,  trying  to  draw 
all  attention  to  herself,  while  the  young  ones,  which 
were  unable  to  fly,  hid  themselves.  She  whined  like 
a  dog  in  great  distress,  and  dragged  herself  along  ap- 
parently with  the  greatest  difficulty.  As  I  pursued 
her,  she  ran  very  nimbly,  and  presently  flew  a  few 
yards.  Then,  as  I  went  on,  she  flew  farther  and 
farther  each  time,  till  at  last  she  got  up,  and  went 
humming  through  the  woods  as  if  she  had  no  interest 
in  them.  I  went  back  and  caught  one  of  the  young, 
which  had  simply  squatted  close  to  the  leaves.  I 
took  it  up  and  set  it  on  the  palm  of  my  hand,  which 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  207 

it  hugged  as  closely  as  if  still  upon  the  ground.  I 
then  put  it  in  my  coatsleeve,  when  it  ran  and  nestled 
in  my  armpit. 

When  we  met  at  the  sign  of  the  smoke,  opinions 
differed  as  to  the  most  feasible  course.  There  was  no 
doubt  but  that  we  could  get  out  of  the  woods  ;  but 
we  wished  to  get  out  speedily  and  as  near  as  pos- 
sible to  the  point  where  we  had  entered.  Half 
ashamed  of  our  timidity  and  indecision,  we  finally 
tramped  away  back  to  where  we  had  crossed  the 
line  of  blazed  trees,  followed  our  old  trail  to  the 
spring  on  the  top  of  the  range,  and,  after  much 
searching  and  scouring  to  the  right  and  left  found 
ourselves  at  the  very  place  we  had  left  two  hours 
before.  Another  deliberation  and  a  divided  council. 
But  something  must  be  done.  It  was  then  mid-after- 
noon, and  the  prospect  of  spending  another  night  on 
the  mountains,  without  food  or  drink,  was  not  pleas- 
ant. So  we  moved  down  the  ridge.  Here  another 
line  of  marked  trees  was  found,  the  course  of  which 
formed  an  obtuse  angle  with  the  one  we  had  followed. 
It  kept  on  the  top  of  the  ridge  for  perhaps  a  mile, 
when  it  entirely  disappeared,  and  we  were  as  much 
adrift  as  ever.  Then  one  of  the  party  swore  on  oath, 
and  said  he  was  going  out  of  those  woods,  hit  or  miss, 
and  wheeling  to  the  right,  instantly  plunged  over 
the  brink  of  the  mountain.  The  rest  followed,  but 
would  fain  have  paused  and  ciphered  away  at  their 
own  uncertainties,  to  see  if  a  certainty  could  not  be 
arrived  at  as  to  where  we  would  come  out.  But  our 


208  BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

bold  leader  was  solving  the  problem  in  the  right  way. 
Down  and  down  and  still  down  we  went,  as  if  we 
were  to  bring  up  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  It  was 
by  far  the  steepest  descent  we  had  made,  and  we  felt 
a  grim  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  we  could  not  re- 
trace our  steps  this  time,  be  the  issue  what  it  might. 
As  we  paused  on  the  brink  of  a  ledge  of  rocks,  we 
chanced  to  see  through  the  trees  distant  cleared  land. 
A  house  or  barn  also  was  dimly  descried.  This  was 
encouraging ;  but  we  could  not  make  out  whether  it 
was  on  Beaver  Kill  or  Mill  Brook  or  Dry  Brook, 
and  did  not  long  stop  to  consider  where  it  was.  We 
at  last  brought  up  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  gorge, 
through  which  flowed  a  rapid  creek  that  literally 
swarmed  with  trout.  But  we  were  in  no  mood  to 
catch  them,  and  pushed  on  along  the  channel  of  the 
stream,  sometimes  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  and 
sometimes  splashing  heedlessly  through  the  water, 
and  speculating  the  while  as  to  where  we  would 
probably  come  out.  On  the  Beaver  Kill,  my  com- 
panions thought;  but,  from  the  position  of  the  sun,  I 
said,  on  the  Mill  Brook,  about  six  miles  below  our 
team  ;  for  I  remembered  having  seen,  in  coming  up 
this  stream,  a  deep,  wild  valley  that  led  up  into  the 
mountains,  like  this  one.  Soon  the  banks  of  the 
stream  became  lower,  and  we  moved  into  the  woods. 
Here  we  entered  upon  an  obscure  wood-road,  which 
presently  conducted  us  into  the  midst  of  a  vast  hem- 
lock forest.  The  land  had  a  gentle  slope,  and  we 
wondered  why  the  lumbermen  and  barkmen  who 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS.  209 

prowl  through  these  woods  had  left  this  fine  tract 
untouched.  Beyond  this  the  forest  was  mostly  birch 
and  maple. 

We  were  now  close  to  the  settlement,  and  began 
to  hear  human  sounds.  One  rod  more,  and  we  were 
out  of  the  woods.  It  took  us  a  moment  to  compre- 
hend the  scene.  Things  looked  very  strange  at  first ; 
but  quickly  they  began  to  change  and  to  put  on  fa- 
miliar features.  Some  magic  scene-shifting  seemed 
to  take  place  before  my  eyes,  till,  instead  of  the  un- 
known settlement  which  I  at  first  seemed  to  look 
upon  there  stood  the  farm-house  at  which  we  had 
stopped  two  days  before,  and  at  the  same  moment  we 
heard  the  stumping  of  our  team  in  the  barn.  We 
sat  down  and  laughed  heartily  over  our  good  luck. 
Our  desperate  venture  had  resulted  better  than  we 
had  dared  to  hope,  and  had  shamed  our  wisest  plans. 
At  the  house  our  arrival  had  been  anticipated  about 
this  time,  and  dinner-was  being  put  upon  the  table. 

It  was  then  five  o'clock,  so  that  we  had  been  in  the 
woods  just  forty-eight  hours ;  but  if  time  is  only 
phenomenal,  as  the  philosophers  say,  and  life  only  in 
feeling,  as  the  poets  aver,  we  were  some  months,  if 
not  years,  older  at  that  moment  than  we  had  been 
two  days  before.  Yet  younger  too,  —  though  this  be 
a  paradox,  —  for  the  birches  had  infused  into  us  some 
of  their  own  suppleness  and  strength. 
14 


THE   BLUEBIRD. 


THE  BLUEBIRD. 

WHEN  Nature  made  the  bluebird  she  wished  to 
propitiate  both  the  sky  and  the  earth,  so  she  gave 
him  the  color  of  the  one  on  his  back  and  the  hue  of 
the  other  on  his  breast,  and  ordained  that  his  appear- 
ance in  spring  should  denote  that  the  strife  and  war 
between  these  two  elements  was  at  an  end.  He  is 
the  peace-harbinger ;  in  him  the  celestial  and  terres- 
trial strike  hands  and  are  fast  friends.  He  means 
the  furrow  and  he  means  the  warmth ;  he  means  all 
the  soft,  wooing  influences  of  the  spring  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  retreating  footsteps  of  winter  on  the 
other. 

It  is  sure  to  be  a  bright  March  morning  when  you 
first  hear  his  note;  and  it  is  as  if  the  milder  in- 
fluences up  above  had  found  a  voice  and  let  a  word 
fall  upon  your  ear,  so  tender  is  it  and  so  prophetic,  a 
hope  tinged  with  a  regret. 


214  THE   BLUEBIRD. 

"  Bermuda  !  Bermuda  !  Bermuda  !  "  he  seems  to 
say,  as  if  both  invoking  and  lamenting,  and  behold  ! 
Bermuda  follows  close,  though  the  little  pilgrim  may 
be  only  repeating  the  tradition  of  his  race,  himself 
having  come  only  from  Florida,  the  Carolinas,  or 
even  from  Virginia,  where  he  has  found  his  Bermuda 
on  some  broad  sunny  hill-side  thickly  studded  with 
cedars  and  persimmon  trees. 

In  New  York  and  in  New  England  the  sap  starts 
up  in  the  sugar-maple  the  very  day  the  bluebird 
arrives,  and  sugar-making  begins  forthwith.  The 
bird  is  generally  a  mere  disembodied  voice  ;  a  rumor 
in  the  air  for  two  or  three  days  before  it  takes  visible 
shape  before  you.  The  males  are.  the  pioneers,  and 
come  several  days  in  advance  of  the  females.  By 
the  time  both  are  here  and  the  pair  have  begun  to 
prospect  for  a  place  to  nest,  sugar-making  is  over, 
the  last  vestige  of  snow  has  disappeared,  and  the 
plow  is  brightening  its  mould-board  in  the  new  fur- 
row. 

The  bluebird  enjoys  the  preeminence  of  being  the 
first  bit  of  color  that  cheers  our  northern  landscape. 
The  other  birds  that  arrive  about  the  same  time  — 
the  sparrow,  the  robin,  the  phcebe-bird  —  are  clad  in 
neutral  tints,  gray,  brown,  or  russet ;  but  the  blue- 
bird brings  one  of  the  primary  hues  and  the  divinest 
of  them  all. 

This  bird  also  has  the  distinction  of  answering  very 
nearly  to  the  robin  redbreast  of  English  memory, 
and  was  by  the  early  settlers  of  New  England 
christened  the  blue-robin. 


THE   BLUEBIRD.  215 

It  is  a  size  or  two  larger,  and  the  ruddy  hue  of  its 
breast  does  not  verge  so  nearly  on  an  orange,  but  the 
manners  and  habits  of  the  two  birds  are  very  much 
alike.  Our  bird  has  the  softest  voice,  but  the  Eng- 
lish redbreast  is  much  the  most  skilled  musician, 
lie  has  indeed  a  fine,  animated  warble,  heard  nearly 
the  year  through  about  English  gardens  and  along 
the  old  hedge-rows,  that  is  quite  beyond  the  compass 
of  our  bird's  instrument  On  the  other  hand,  our 
bird  is  associated  with  the  spring  as  the  British  spe- 
cies cannot  be,  being  a  winter  resident  also,  while 
the  brighter  sun  and  sky  of  the  New  World  has  given 
him  a  coat  that  far  surpasses  that  of  his  transatlantic 
cousin. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  among  British  birds 
there  is  no  blue-bird.  The  cerulean  tint  seems  much 
rarer  among  the  feathered  tribes  there  than  here. 
On  this  continent  there  are  at  least  three  species  of 
the  common  bluebird,  while  in  all  our  woods  there  is 
the  blue  jay  and  the  indigo-bird,  —  the  latter  so  in- 
tensely blue  as  to  fully  justify  its  name.  There  is 
also  the  blue  grossbeak,  not  much  behind  the  indigo- 
bird  in  intensity  of  color ;  and  among  our  warblers 
the  blue  tint  is  very  common. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  the  blue-bird  is  not 
confined  to  any  one  section  of  the  country  ;  and  that 
when  one  goes  west  he  will  still  have  this  favorite 
with  him,  though  a  little  changed  in  voice  and  color, 
just  enough  to  give  variety  without  marring  the 
identity. 


216  THE   BLUEBIRD. 

The  western  bluebird  is  considered  a  distinct  spe- 
cies, and  is  perhaps  a  little  more  brilliant  and  showy 
than  its  Eastern  brother ;  and  Nuttall  thinks  its 
song  is  more  varied,  sweet,  and  tender.  Its  color 
approaches  to  ultramarine,  while  it  has  a  sash  of 
chestnut-red  across  its  shoulders,  —  all  the  effects,  I 
expect,  of  that  wonderful  air  and  sky  of  California, 
and  of  those  great  western  plains  ;  or  if  one  goes  a 
little  higher  up  into  the  mountainous  regions  of  the 
West  he  finds  the  Arctic  bluebird,  the  ruddy  brown 
on  the  breast  changed  to  greenish-blue,  and  the  wings 
longer  and  more  pointed ;  in  other  respects  not  dif- 
fering much  from  our  species. 

The  bluebird  usually  builds  its  nest  in  a  hole  in  a 
stump  or  stub,  or  in  an  old  cavity  excavated  by  a 
woodpecker,  when  such  can  be  had  ;  but  its  first  im- 
pulse seems  to  be  to  start  in  the  world  in  much  more 
style,  and  the  happy  pair  make  a  great  show  of  house- 
hunting about  the  farm-buildings,  now  half  persuaded 
to  appropriate  a  dove-cot,  then  discussing  in  a  lively 
manner  a  last  year's  swallow's  nest,  or  proclaiming 
with  much  flourish  and  flutter  that  they  have  taken 
the  wren's  house,  or  the  tenement  of  the  purple  mar- 
tin ;  till  finally  nature  becomes  too  urgent,  when  all 
this  pretty  make-believe  ceases,  and  most  of  them 
settle  back  upon  the  old  family  stumps  and  knot- 
holes in  remote  fields,  and  go  to  work  in  earnest. 

In  such  situations  the  female  is  easily  captured  by 
approaching  very  stealthily  and  covering  the  entrance 
to  the  nest.  The  bird  seldom  makes  any  effort  (o 


THK   BLCKBIRD.  217 

escape,  seeing  how  hopeless  the  case  is,  and  keeps 
her  place  on  the  nest  till  she  feels  your  hand  closing 
around  her.  I  have  looked  down  into  the  cavity  and 
seen  the  poor  thing  palpitating  with  fear  and  looking 
up  with  distended  eyes,  but  never  moving  till  I  had 
withdrawn  a  few  paces  ;  then  she  rushes  out  with  a 
<TV  that  brings  the  male  on  the  scene  in  a  hurry. 
He  warbles  and  lifts  his  wings  beseechingly,  but 
shows  no  anger  or  disposition  to  scold  and  complain 
like  most  birds.  Indeed,  this  bird  seems  incapable  of 
uttering  a  harsh  note,  or  of  doing  a  spiteful,  ill-tem- 
pered thing. 

The  ground-builders  all  have  some  art  or  device  to 
decoy  one  away  from  the  nest,  affecting  lameness,  a 
crippled  wing,  or  a  broken  back,  promising  an  easy 
rapture  if  pursued.  The  tree-builders  depend  upon 
concealing  the  nest  or  placing  it  beyond  reach.  But 
the  bluebird  has  no  art  either  way,  and  its  nest  is 
easily  found. 

About  the  only  enemies  the  sitting  bird  or  the  nest 
is  in  danger  of,  are  snakes  and  squirrels.  I  knew  of 
a  farm-boy  who  was  in  the  habit  of  putting  his  hand 
down  into  a  bluebird's  nest  and  taking  out  the  old 
bird  whenever  he  came  that  way.  One  day  he  put 
his  hand  in,  and  feeling  something  peculiar,  withdrew 
it  hastily,  when  it  was  instantly  followed  by  the  head 
and  neck  of  an  enormous  black  snake.  The  boy  took 
to  his  heels  and  the  snake  gave  chase,  pressing  him 
close  till  a  plowman  near  by  came  to  the  rescue 
with  his  ox-whip. 


218  THE   BLUEBIRD. 

There  never  was  a  happier  or  more  devoted  hus- 
band than  the  male  bluebird  is.  But  among  nearly 
all  our  familiar  birds  the  serious  cares  of  life  seem  to 
devolve  almost  entirely  upon  the  female.  The  male 
is  hilarious  and  demonstrative,  the  female  serious  and 
anxious  about  her  charge.  The  male  is  the  attendant 
of  the  female,  following  her  wherever  she  goes.  He 
never  leads,  never  directs,  but  only  seconds  and  ap- 
plauds. If  his  life  is  all  poetry  and  romance,  hers  is 
all  business  and  prose.  She  has  no  pleasure  but  her 
duty,  and  no  duty  but  to  look  after  her  nest  and 
brood.  She  shows  no  affection  for  the  male,  no  pleas- 
ure in  his  society  ;  she  only  tolerates  him  as  a  neces- 
sary evil,  and,  if  he  is  killed,  goes  in  quest  of  another 
in  the  most  business-like  manner,  as  you  would  go 
for  the  plumber  or  the  glazier.  In  most  cases  the 
male  is  the  ornamental  partner  in  the  firm,  and  con- 
tributes little  of  the  working  capital.  There  seems 
to  be  more  equality  of  the  sexes  among  the  wood- 
peckers, wrens,  and  swallows  ;  while  the  contrast  is 
greatest,  perhaps,  in  the  bobolink  family,  where  the 
courting  is  done  in  the  Arab  fashion,  the  female  flee- 
ing with  all  her  speed  and  the  male  pursuing  with 
equal  precipitation  ;  and  were  it  not  for  the  broods  of 
young  birds  that  appear,  it  would  be  hard  to  believe 
that  the  intercourse  ever  ripened  into  anything  more 
intimate. 

With  the  bluebirds  the  male  is  useful  as  well  as 
ornamental.  He  is  the  gay  champion  and  escort  of 
the  female  at  all  times,  and  while  she  is  sitting  he 


THE    BLUEBIRD.  219 

feeds  her  regularly.  It  is  very  pretty  to  watch  them 
building  their  nest.  The  male  is  very  active  in  hunt- 
ing out  a  place  and  exploring  the  boxes  and  cavities, 
but  seems  to  have  no  choice  in  the  matter  and  is 
anxious  only  to  please  and  encourage  his  mate,  who 
has  the  practical  turn  and  knows  what  will  do  and 
what  will  not.  After  she  has  suited  herself  he  ap- 
plauds her  immensely,  and  away  the  two  go  in  quest 
of  material  for  the  nest,  the  male  acting  as  guard  and 
flying  above  and  in  advance  of  the  female.  She  brings 
all  the  material  and  all  does  the  work  of  building, 
he  looking  on  and  encouraging  her  with  gesture  and 
song.  lie  acts  also  as  inspector  of  her  work,  but  I 
fear  is  a  very  partial  one.  She  enters  the  nest 
with  her  bit  of  dry  grass  or  straw,  and  having  ad- 
justed it  to  her  notion,  withdraws  and  waits  near 
by  while  he  goes  in  and  looks  it  over.  On  com- 
ing out  he  exclaims  very  plainly,  "Excellent!  ex- 
cellent !  "  and  away  the  two  go  again  for  more  ma- 
terial. 

The  bluebirds,  when  they  build  about  the  farm- 
buildings,  sometimes  come  in  conflict  with  the  swal- 
lows. The  past  season  I  knew  a  pair  to  take  forci- 
ble possession  of  the  domicile  of  a  pair  of  the  latter 
—  the  cliff  species  that  now  stick  their  nests  under 
the  eaves  of  the  barn.  The  bluebirds  had  been 
broken  up  in  a  little  bird-house  near  by,  by  the  rats 
or  perhaps  a  weasel,  and  being  no  doubt  in  a  bad 
humor,  and  the  season  being  well  advanced,  they 
made  forcible  entrance  into  the  adobe  tenement  of 


220  THE   BLUEBIRD. 

their  neighbors,  and  held  possession  of  it  for  some 
days,  but  I  believe  finally  withdrew,  rather  than  live 
amid  such  a  squeaky,  noisy  colony.  I  have  heard 
that  these  swallows,  when  ejected  from  their  homes 
in  that  way  by  the  phoebe-bird,  have  been  known  to 
f:ill  to  and  mason  up  the  entrance  to  the  nest  while 
tlieir  enemy  was  inside  of  it,  thus  having  a  revenge  as 
complete  and  cruel  as  anything  in  human  annals. 

The  bluebirds  and  the  house-wrens  more  fre- 
quently come  into  collision.  A  few  years  ago  I  put 
up  a  little  bird-house  in  the  back  end  of  my  garden 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  wrens,  and  every  sea- 
son a  pair  have  taken  up  their  abode  there.  One 
spring  a  pair  of  bluebirds  looked  into  the  tenement 
and  lingered  about  several  days,  leading  me  to  hope 
that  they  would  conclude  to  occupy  it.  But  they 
finally  went  away,  and  later  in  the  season  the  wrens 
appeared,  and  after  a  little  coquetting,  were  regularly 
installed  in  their  old  quarters  and  were  as  happy  as 
only  wrens  can  be. 

One  of  our  younger  poets,  Myron  Benton,  saw  a 
little  bird 

"  Ruffled  with  whirlwind  of  his  ecstasies," 

which  must  have  been  the  wren,  as  I  know  of  no 
other  bird  that  so  throbs  and  palpitates  with  music 
as  this  little  vagabond.  And  the  pair  I  speak  of 
seemed  exceptionably  happy,  and  the  male  had  a 
small  tornado  of  song  in  his  crop  that  kept  him 
"ruffled"  every  moment  in  the  day,  But  before 


THE   BLUEBIRD.  221 

their  honeymoon  was  over  the  bluebirds  returned. 
I  knew  something  was  wrong  before  I  was  up  in  the 
morning.  Instead  of  that  voluble  and  gushing  song 
outside  the  window,  I  heard  the  wrens  scolding  and 
crying  at  a  fearful  rate,  and  on  going  out  saw  the 
bluebirds  in  possession  of  the  box.  The  poor  wrens 
were  in  despair ;  they  wrung  their  hands  and  tore 
their  hair,  after  the  wren  fashion,  but  chiefly  did  they 
rattle  out  their  disgust  and  wrath  at  the  intruders. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  if  it  could  have  been  interpreted 
it  would  have  proven  the  rankest  and  most  voluble 
Billingsgate  ever  uttered.  For  the  wren  is  saucy, 
and  he  has  a  tongue  in  his  head  that  can  outwag  any 
other  tongue  known  to  me. 

The  bluebirds  said  nothing,  but  the  male  kept  an 
eye  on  Mr.  Wren  ;  and  when  he  came  too  near,  gave 
chase,  driving  him  to  cover  under  the  fence,  or  under 
a  rubbish-heap  or  other  object,  where  the  wren  would 
scold  and  rattle  away,  while  his  pursuer  sat  on  the 
fence  or  the  pea-brush  waiting  for  him  to  reappear. 

Days  passed,  and  the  usurpers  prospered  and  the 
outcasts  were  wretched ;  but  the  latter  lingered 
about,  watching  and  abusing  their  enemies,  and  hop- 
ing, no  doubt,  that  things  would  take  a  turn,  as  they 
presently  did.  The  outraged  wrens  were  fully 
avenged.  The  mother  bluebird  had  lain  her  full 
complement  of  eggs  and  was  beginning  to  set, 
when  one  day,  as  her  mate  was  perched  above  her 
on  the  barn,  along  came  a  boy  with  one  of  those 
wicked  elastic  slings  and  cut  him  down  with  a  pebble. 


222  THE   BLUEBIRD. 

There  he  lay  like  a  bit  of  sky  fallen  upon  the  grass. 
The  widowed  bird  seemed  to  understand  what  had 
happened,  and  without  much  ado  disappeared  next 
day  in  quest  of  another  mate.  How  she  contrived 
to  make  her  wants  known  without  trumpeting  them 
about  I  am  unable  to  say.  But  I  presume  the  birds 
have  a  way  of  advertising  that  answers  the  purpose 
well.  Maybe  she  trusted  to  luck  to  fall  in  with  some 
stray  bachelor  or  bereaved  male,  who  would  under- 
take to  console  a  widow  of  one  day's  standing.  I 
will  say,  in  passing,  that  there  are  no  bachelors  from 
choice  among  the  birds ;  they  are  all  rejected  suitors, 
while  old  maids  are  entirely  unknown.  There  is  a 
Jack  to  every  Gill  ;  and  some  to  boot. 

The  males  being  more  exposed  by  their  song  and 
plumage,  and  by  being  the  pioneers  in  migrating, 
seem  to  be  slightly  in  excess  lest  the  supply  fall 
short,  and  hence  it  sometimes  happens  that  a  few  are 
bachelors  perforce ;  there  are  not  females  enough  to 
go  around,  but  before  the  season  is  over  there  are 
sure  to  be  some  vacancies  in  the  marital  ranks,  which 
they  are  called  on  to  fill. 

In  the  mean  time  the  wrens  were  beside  themselves 
with  delight ;  they  fairly  screamed  with  joy.  If  the 
male  was  before  "  ruffled  with  whirlwind  of  his  ecsta- 
sies," he  was  now  in  danger  of  being  rent  asunder. 
He  inflated  his  throat  and  caroled  as  wren  never  car- 
oled before.  And  the  female,  too,  how  she  cackled 
and  darted  about !  How  busy  they  both  were ! 
Rushing  into  the  nest,  they  hustled  those  eggs  out  in 


THE   BLUEBIRD.  223 

less  than  a  minute,  wren  time.  They  carried  in  new 
material,  and  by  the  third  day  were  fairly  installed 
again  in  their  old  quarters  ;  but  on  the  third  day,  so 
rapidly  are  these  little  dramas  played,  the  female 
bluebird  reappeared  with  another  mate.  Ah!  how 
the  wren  stock  went  down  then  !  What  dismay  and 
despair  filled  again  those  little  breasts !  It  was  piti- 
ful. They  did  not  scold  as  before,  but  after  a  day 
or  two  withdrew  from  the  garden,  dumb  with  grief, 
and  gave  up  the  struggle. 

The  bluebird,  finding  her  eggs  gone  and  her  nest 
changed,  sjeemed  suddenly  seized  with  alarm  and 
shunned  the  box ;  or  else,  finding  she  had  less  need 
for  another  husband  than  she  thought,  repented  her 
rashness  and  wanted  to  dissolve  the  compact.  But 
the  happy  bridegroom  would  not  take  the  hint,  and 
exerted  all  his  eloquence  to  comfort  and  reassure  her. 
He  was  fresh  and  fond,  and  until  this  bereaved  fe- 
male found  him  I  am  sure  his  suit  had  not  prospered 
that  season.  He  thought  the  box  just  the  thing,  and 
that  there  was  no  need  of  alarm,  and  spent  days  in 
trying  to  persuade  the  female  back.  Seeing  he  could 
not  be  a  step-father  to  a  family,  he  was  quite  willing 
to  assume  a  nearer  relation.  He  hovered  about  the 
box,  he  went  in  and  out,  he  called,  he  warbled,  he 
entreated ;  the  female  would  respond  occasionally 
and  come  and  alight  near,  and  even  peep  into  the 
nest,  but  would  not  enter  it,  and  quickly  flew  away 
again.  Her  mate  would  reluctantly  follow,  but  he 
was  soon  back,  uttering  the  most  confident  and  cheer- 


224 


THE   BLUEBIRD. 


ing  calls.  If  she  did  not  come  he  would  perch  above 
the  nest  and  sound  his  loudest  notes  over  and  over 
again,  looking  in  the  direction  of  his  mate  and  beck- 
oning with  every  motion.  But  she  responded  less 
and  less  frequently.  Some  days  I  would  see  him 
only,  but  finally  he  gave  it  up ;  the  pair  disappeared, 
and  the  box  remained  deserted  the  rest  of  the  sum- 
mer. 


THE  INVITATION. 


Sprigue'i  Lark. 


THE  INVITATION. 

YEARS  ago,  when  quite  a  youth,  I  was  rambling  in 
the  woods,  one  Sunday,  with  my  brothers,  gathering 
black  birch,  wintergreens,  etc.,  when,  as  we  reclined 
upon  the  ground,  gazing  vaguely  up  into  the  trees,  I 
caught  sight  of  a  bird,  that  paused  a  moment  on  a 
branch  above  me,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  be- 
fore seen  or  heard  of.  It  was  probably  the  blue  yel- 
low-backed warbler,  as  I  have  since  found  this  to  be  a 
common  bird  in  those  woods  ;  but  to  my  young  fancy 
it  seemed  like  some  fairy  bird,  so  curiously  marked 
was  it,  and  so  new  and  unexpected.  I  saw  it  a  mo- 
ment as  the  flickering  leaves  parted,  noted  the  white 
spot  on  its  wing,  and  it  was  gone.  How  the  thought 
of  it  clung  to  me  afterward !  It  was  a  revelation. 
It  was  the  first  intimation  I  had  had  that  the  woods 
we  knew  so  well  held  birds  that  we  knew  not  at  all. 
Were  our  eyes  and  ears  so  dull,  then  ?  There  was 


228  THE  INVITATION. 

the  robin,  the  blue  jay,  the  bluebird,  the  yellow-bird, 
the  cherry-bird,  the  cat-bird,  the  chipping-bird,  the 
woodpecker,  the  high-hole,  an  occasional  redbird,  and 
a  few  others,  in  the  woods,  or  along  their  borders, 
but  who  ever  dreamed  that  there  were  still  others 
that  not  even  the  hunters  saw,  and  whose  names  no 
one  had  ever  heard  ? 

When,  one  summer  day,  later  in  life,  I  took  my 
gun,  and  went  to  the  woods  again,  in  a  different, 
though,  perhaps,  a  less  simple  spirit,  I  found  my 
youthful  vision  more  than  realized.  There  were,  in- 
deed, other  birds,  plenty  of  them,  singing,  nesting, 
breeding,  among  the  familiar  trees,  which  I  had  be- 
fore passed  by  unheard  and  unseen. 

It  is  a  surprise  that  awaits  every  student  of  or- 
nithology, and  the  thrill  of  delight  that  accompanies 
it,  and  the  feeling  of  fresh,  eager  inquiry  that  follows, 
can  hardly  be  awakened  by  any  other  pursuit.  Take 
the  first  step  in  ornithology,  procure  one  new  speci- 
men, and  you  are  ticketed  for  the  whole  voyage. 
There  is  a  fascination  about  it  quite  overpowering. 
It  fits  so  well  with  other  things  —  with  fishing,  hunt- 
ing, farming,  walking,  camping-out  —  with  all  that 
takes  one  to  the  fields  and  woods.  One  may  go  a 
blackberrying  and  make  some  rare  discovery ;  or 
while  driving  his  cow  to  pasture,  hear  a  new  song,  or 
make  a  new  observation.  Secrets  lurk  on  all  sides. 
There  is  news  in  everf  bush.  Expectation  is  ever 
on  tiptoe.  What  no  man  ever  saw  before  may  the 
next  moment  be  revealed  to  you.  What  a  new  in- 


THE  INVITATION.  229 

terest  the  woods  have !  How  you  long  to  explore 
every  nook  and  corner  of  them  !  You  would  even 
find  consolation  in  being  lost  in  them.  You  could 
then  hear  the  night  birds  and  the  owls,  and,  in  your 
wanderings,  might  stumble  upon  some  unknown 
specimen. 

In  all  excursions  to  the  woods  or  to  the  shore,  the 
student  of  ornithology  has  an  advantage  over  his 
companions.  He  has  one  more  resource,  one  more 
avenue  of  delight.  He,  indeed,  kills  two  birds  with 
one  stone,  and  sometimes  three.  If  others  wander, 
he  can  never  go  out  of  his  way.  His  game  is  every- 
where. The  cawing  of  a  crow  makes  him  feel  at 
home,  while  a  new  note  or  a  new  song  drowns  all 
care.  Audubon,  on  the  desolate  coast  of  Labrador, 
is  happier  than  any  king  ever  was ;  and  on  shipboard 
is  nearly  cured  of  his  sea-sickness  when  a  new  gull 
appears  in  sight. 

One  must  taste  it  to  understand  or  appreciate  its 
fascination.  The  looker-on  sees  nothing  to  inspire 
such  enthusiasm.  Only  a  little  feathers  and  a  half- 
musical  note  or  two  ;  why  all  this  ado  ?  "  Who 
would  give  a  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  to  know 
about  the  birds  ? "  said  an  eastern  governor,  half 
contemptuously,  to  Wilson,  as  the  latter  solicited  a 
subscription  to  his  great  work.  Sure  enough.  Bought 
knowledge  is  dear  at  any  price.  The  most  precious 
things  have  no  commercial* value.  It  is  not,  your 
Excellency,  mere  technical  knowledge  of  the  birds 
that  you  are  asked  to  purchase,  but  a  new  interest  in 


230  THE   INVITATION. 

the  fields  and  woods,  a  new  moral  and  intellectual 
tonic,  a  new  key  to  the  treasure-house  of  nature. 
Think  of  the  many  other  things  your  Excellency 
would  get ;  the  air,  the  sunshine,  •  the  healing  fra- 
grance and  coolness,  and  the  many  respites  from  the 
knavery  and  turmoil  of  political  life. 

Yesterday  was  an  October  day  of  rare  brightness 
and  warmth.  I  spent  the  most  of  it  in  a  wild,  wooded 
gorge  of  Rock  Creek.  A  persimmon-tree  which 
stood  upon  the  bank  had  dropped  some  of  its  fruit  in 
the  water.  As  I  stood  there,  half-leg  deep,  picking 
them  up,  a  wood-duck  came  flying  down  the  creek 
and  passed  over  my  head.  Presently  it  returned, 
flying  up  ;  then  it  came  back  again,  and,  sweeping 
low  around  a  bend,  prepared  to  alight  in  a  still,  dark 
reach  in  the  creek  which  was  hidden  from  my  view. 
As  I  passed  that  way  about  half  an  hour  afterward, 
the  duck  started  up,  uttering  its  wild  alarm  note.  In 
the  stillness  I  could  hear  the  whistle  of  its  wings  and 
the  splash  of  the  water  when  it  took  flight.  Near 
by  I  saw  where  a  raccoon  had  come  down  to  the 
water  for  fresh  clams,  leaving  his  long,  sharp  track 
in  the  mud  and  sand.  Before  I  had  passed  this  hid- 
den stretch  of  water,  a  pair  of  those  mysterious 
thrushes,  the  gray-cheeked,  flew  up  from  the  ground 
and  perched  on  a  low  branch. 

Who  can  tell  how  much  this  duck,  this  foot-print 
in  the  sand,  and  these  strange  thrushes  from  the  far 
North,  enhanced  the  interest  and  charm  of  the 
autumn  woods  ? 


THE   INVITATION.  231 

Ornithology  cannot  be  satisfactorily  learned  from 
the  books.  The  satisfaction  is  in  learning  it  from 
nature.  One  must  have  an  original  experience  with 
the  birds.  The  books  are  only  the  guide,  the  invita- 
tion. Though  there  remain  not  another  new  species 
to  describe,  any  young  person  with  health  and  en- 
thusiasm has  open  to  him  or  her  the  whole  field 
anew,  and  is  eligible  to  experience  all  the  thrill  and 
delight  of  original  discoverers. 

But  let  me  say,  in  the  same  breath,  that  the  books 
can  by  no  manner  of  means  be  dispensed  with.  A 
copy  of  Wilson  or  Audubon,  for  reference  and  to 
compare  notes  with,  is  invaluable.  In  lieu  of  these, 
access  to  some  large  museum  or  collection  would  be 
a  great  help.  In  the  beginning,  one  finds  it  very 
difficult  to  identify  a  bird  from  any  verbal  description. 
Reference  to  a  colored  plate,  or  to  a  stuffed  specimen, 
at  once  settles  the  matter.  This  is  the  chief  value  of 
the  books ;  they  are  charts  to  sail  by  ;  the  route  is 
mapped  out,  and  much  time  and  labor  thereby  saved. 
First,  find  your  bird ;  observe  its  ways,  its  song,  its 
calls,  its  flight,  its  haunts  ;  then  shoot  it  (not  ogle  it 
with  a  glass),  and  compare  with  Audubon.  In  this 
way  the  feathered  kingdom  may  soon  be  conquered. 

The  ornithologists  divide  and  subdivide  the  birds 
into  a  great  many  families,  orders,  genera,  species, 
etc.,  which,  at  first  sight,  are  apt  to  confuse  and  dis- 
courage the  reader.  But  any  interested  person  can 
acquaint  himself  with  most  of  our  song-birds,  by 
keeping  in  mind  a  few  general  divisions,  and  observ- 


232  THE   INVITATION. 

ing  the  characteristics  of  each.  By  far  the  greater 
number  of  our  land-birds  are  either  warblers,  vireos, 
fly-catchers,  thrushes,  or  finches. 

The  warblers  are,  perhaps,  the  most  puzzling. 
These  are  the  true  Sylvia,  the  real  wood-birds.  They 
are  small,  very  active,  but  feeble  songsters,  and,  to  be 
seen,  must  be  sought  for.  In  passing  through  the 
woods,  most  persons  have  a  vague  consciousness  of 
slight  chirping,  semi-musical  sounds  in  the  trees  over- 
head. In  most  cases  these  sounds  proceed  from  the 
warblers.  Throughout  the  Middle  and  Eastern 
States,  half  a  dozen  species  or  so  may  be  found  in  al- 
most-every  locality,  as  the  redstart,1  the  Maryland 
yellow-throat,  the  yellow  warbler  (not  the  common 
goldfinch,  with  black  cap,  and  black  wings  and  tail), 
the  hooded  warbler,  the  black  and  white  creeping 
warbler  ;  or  others,  according  to  the  locality  and  the 
character  of  the  woods.  In  pine  or  hemlock  woods, 
one  species  may  predominate ;  in  maple  or  oak  woods, 
or  in  mountainous  districts,  another.  The  subdivis- 
ion of  ground  warblers,  the  most  common  members 
of  which  are  the  Maryland  yellow-throat,  the  Ken- 
tucky warbler,  and  the  mourning  ground  warbler, 
are  usually  found  in  low,  wet,  bushy,  or  half-open 
woods,  often  on,  and  always  near  the  ground. 

The  summer  yellow-bird,  or  yellow  warbler,  is  not 

1  I  am  aware  that  the  redstart  is  generally  classed  among  the 
fly-catchers,  but  its  song,  its  form,  and  its  habits  are  in  every  re- 
spect those  of  a  warbler.  Its  main  fly-catcher  mark  is  its  beak, 
but  to  the  muscicapa  proper  it  presents  little  or  no  resemblance  to 
the  general  observer. 


THE  INVITATION.  233 

now  a  wood-bird  at  all,  being  found  in  orchards  and 
parks,  and  along  streams  and  in  the  trees  of  villages 
and  cities. 

As  we  go  north  the  number  of  warblers  increases, 
till,  in  the  northern  part  of  New  England,  and  in  the 
Cunadas,  as  many  as  ten  or  twelve  varieties  may  be 
found  breeding  in  June.  Audubon  found  the  black- 
poll  warbler  breeding  in  Labrador,  and  congratulates 
himself  on  being  the  first  white  man  who  had  ever 
seen  its  nest.  When  these  warblers  pass  north  in 
May,  they  seem  to  go  singly  or  in  pairs,  and  their 
black  caps  and  striped  coats  show  conspicuously. 
When  they  return  in  September  they  are  in  troops 
or  loose  flocks,  are  of  a  uniform  dull  drab  or  brindlish 
color,  and  are  very  fat.  They  scour  the  tree-tops  for 
a  few  days,  almost  eluding  the  eye  by  their  quick 
movements,  and  are  gone. 

According  to  my  own  observation,  the  number  of 
species  of  warblers  which  one  living  in  the  middle 
districts  sees,  on  their  return  in  the  fall,  is  very  small 
compared  with  the  number  he  may  observe  migrating 
North  in  the  spring. 

The  yellow-rumped  warblers  are  the  most  notice- 
able of  all  in  the  autumn.  They  come  about  the 
streets  and  garden,  and  seem  especially  drawn  to  dry, 
leafless  trees.  They  dart  spitefully  about,  uttering  a 
sharp  chirp.  In  Washington  I  have  seen  them  in 
the  outskirts  all  winter. 

Audubon  figures  and  describes  over  forty  different 
warblers.  More  recent  writers  have  divided  and  sub- 


234  THE   INVITATION. 

divided  the  group  very  much,  giving  new  names  to 
new  classifications.  But  this  part  is  of  interest  and 
value  only  to  the  professional  ornithologist. 

The  finest  songster  among  the  Sylvia,  according  to 
my  notions,  is  the  black-throated  greenback.  Its 
song  is  sweet  and  clear,  but  brief. 

The  rarest  of  the  species  are  Swainson's  warbler, 
said  to  be  disappearing ;  the  cerulean  warbler,  said 
to  be  abundant  about  Niagara ;  and  the  mourning 
ground  warbler,  which  I  have  found  breeding  about 
the  head-waters  of  the  Delaware,  in  New  York. 

The  vireos,  or  greenlets,  are  a  sort  of  connecting 
link  between  the  warblers  and  the  true  fly-catchers, 
and  partake  of  the  characteristics  of  both. 

The  red-eyed  vireo,  whose  sweet  soliloquy  is  one 
of  the  most  constant  and  cheerful  sounds  in  our  woods 
and  groves,  is,  perhaps,  the  most  noticeable  and  abun- 
dant species.  The  vireos  are  a  little  larger  than  the 
warblers,  and  are  far  less  brilliant  and  variegated  in 
color. 

There  are  four  species  found  in  most  of  our  woods, 
namely,  the  red-eyed  vireo,  the  white-eyed  vireo,  the 
warbling  vireo,  and  the  solitary  vireo,  —  the  red-eyed 
and  warbling  being  most  abundant,  and  the. white- 
eyed  being  the  most  lively  and  animated  songster.  I 
meet  the  latter  bird  only  in  the  thick,  bushy  growths 
of  low,  swampy  localities,  where,  eluding  the  ob- 
server, it  pours  forth  its  song  with  a  sharpness  and  a 
rapidity  of  articulation  that  are  truly  astonishing. 
This  strain  is  very  marked,  and,  though  inlaid  with 


THE   INVITATION.  235 

the  notes  of  several  other  birds,  is  entirely  unique. 
The  iris  of  this  bird  is  white,  as  that  of  the  red^eyed 
is  red,  though  in  neither  case  can  this  mark  be  dis- 
tinguished at  more  than  two  or  three  yards.  In  most 
cases  the  iris  of  birds  is  a  dark  hazel,  which  passes 
for  black. 

The  basket-like  nest,  pendent  to  the  low  branches 
in  the  woods,  which  the  falling  leaves  of  autumn  re- 
veal to  all  passers,  is,  in  most  cases,  the  nest  of  the 
red-eyed,  though  the  solitary  constructs  a  similar  tene- 
ment, but  in  much  more  remote  and  secluded  locali- 
ties. 

The  general  color  of  this  group  of  birds  is  very 
light  ash  beneath,  becoming  darker  above,  with  a 
tinge  of  green.  The  red-eyed  has  a  crown  of  a  bluish 
tinge. 

Most  birds  exhibit  great  alarm  and  distress,  usually 
with  a  strong  dash  of  anger,  when  you  approach  their 
nests  ;  but  the  demeanor  of  the  red-eyed,  on  such  an 
occasion,  is  an  exception  to  this  rule.  The  parent 
birds  move  about  softly  amid  the  branches  above,  ey- 
ing the  intruder  with  a  curious,  innocent  look,  utter- 
ing, now  and  then,  a  subdued  note  or  plaint,  solicitous 
and  watchful,  but  making  no  demonstration  of  anger 
or  distress. 

The  birds,  no  more  than  the  animals,  like  to  be 
caught  napping;  but  I  remember,  one  autumn  day, 
of  coming  upon  a  red-eyed  vireo  that  was  clearly  ob- 
livious to  all  that  was  passing  around  it.  It  was  a 
yonng  bird,  though  full  grown,  and  it  was  taking  its 


286  THE   INVITATION. 

siesta  on  a  low  branch  in  a  remote  heathery  field. 
Its  head  was  snugly  stowed  away  under  its  wing,  and 
it  would  have  fallen  an  easy  prey  to  the  first  hawk 
that  came  along.  I  approached  noiselessly,  and  when 
within  a  few  feet  of  it  paused  to  note  its  breathings, 
so  much  more  rapid  and  full  than  our  own.  A  bird 
has  greater  lung  capacity  than  any  other  living  thing, 
hence  more  animal  heat,  and  life  at  a  higher  pressure. 
When  I  reached  out  my  hand  and  carefully  closed  it 
around  the  winged  sleeper,  its  sudden  terror  and  con- 
sternation almost  paralyzed  it.  Then  it  struggled 
and  cried  piteously,  and  when  released,  hastened  and 
hid  itself  in  some  near  bushes.  I  never  expected  to 
surprise  it  thus  a  second  time. 

The  fly-catchers  are  a  larger  group  than  the  vireos, 
with  stronger-marked  characteristics.  They  are  not 
properly  songsters,  but  are  classed  by  some  writers 
as  screecLers.  Their  pugnacious  dispositions  are  well 
known,  and  they  not  only  fight  among  themselves  but 
are  incessantly  quarreling  with  their  neighbors.  The 
king-bird,  or  tyrant  fly-catcher,  might  serve  as  the 
type  of  the  order. 

The  common  pewee  excites  the  most  pleasant  emo- 
tions, both  on  account  of  its  plaintive  note  and  its 
exquisite  mossy  nest. 

The  phcebe-bird  is  the  pioneer  of  the  fly-catchers, 
and  comes  in  April,  sometimes  in  March.  It  comes 
familiarly  about  the  house  and  out-buildings  and  usu- 
ally builds  beneath  hay-sheds  or  under  bridges. 

The  fly-catchers  always  take  their  insect  prey  on 


THE   INVITATION.  237 

the  wing,  by  a  sudden  darting  or  swooping  move- 
ment ;  often  a  very  audible  snap  of  the  beak  may  be 
heard. 

These  birds  are  the  least  elegant,  both  in  form  and 
color,  of  any  of  our  feathered  neighbors.  They  have 
short  legs,  a  short  neck,  large  heads,  and  broad,  flat 
beaks,  with  bristles  at  the  base.  They  often  fly  with 
a  peculiar  quivering  movement  of  the  wings,  and 
when  at  rest  oscillate  their  tails  at  short  intervals. 

There  are  found  in  the  United  States  nineteen  spe- 
cies. In  the  Middle  and  Eastern  districts,  one  may 
observe  in  summer,  without  any  special  search,  about 
five  of  them,  namely,  the  king-bird,  the  ph<cbe-bird, 
the  wood-pewee,  the  great-crested  fly-catcher  (distin- 
guished from  all  others  by  the  bright  ferruginous 
color  of  its  tail),  and  the  small  green-crested  fly- 
catcher. 

The  thrushes  are  the  birds  of  real  melody,  and  will 
afford  one  more  delight  perhaps  than  any  other  class. 
The  robin  is  the  most  familiar  example.  Their  man- 
ners, flight,  and  form  are  the  same  in  each  species. 
See  the  robin  hop  along  upon  the  ground,  strike  an 
attitude,  scratch  for  a  worm,  fix  his  eye  upon  some- 
thing before  him  or  upon  the  beholder,  flip  his  wings 
suspiciously,  fly  straight  to  his  perch,  or  sit  at  sun- 
down on  some  high  branch  caroling  his  sweet  and 
honest  strain,  and  you  have  seen  what  is  characteristic 
of  all  the  thrushes.  Their  carriage  is  preeminently 
marked  by  grace,  and  their  songs  by  melody. 

Beside  the  robin,  which  is  in  no  sense  a  wood-bird, 


238  THE   INVITATION. 

we  have,  in  New  York,  the  wood-thrush,  the  hermit- 
thrush,  the  veery,  or  Wilson's  thrush,  the  olive-backed 
thrush,  and,  transiently,  one  or  two  other  species  not 
so  clearly  denned. 

The  wood-thrush  and  the  hermit  stand  at  the  head 
as  songsters,  no  two  persons,  perhaps,  agreeing  as  to 
which  is  the  superior. 

Under  the  general  head  of  finches,  Audubon  de- 
scribes over  sixty  different  birds,  ranging  from  the 
sparrows  to  the  grossbeaks,  and  including  the  bunt- 
ings, the  linnets,  the  snow-birds,  the  cross-bills,  and 
the  red-birds. 

We  have  nearly  or  quite  a  dozen  varieties  of  the 
sparrow  in  the  Atlantic  States,  but  perhaps  no  more 
than  half  that  number  would  be  discriminated  by  the 
unprofessional  observer.  The  song-sparrow,  which 
every  child  knows,  comes  first ;  at  least,  his  voice  is 
first  heard.  And  can  there  be  anything  more  fresh 
and  pleasing  than  this  first  simple  strain  heard  from 
the  garden  fence  or  a  near  hedge,  on  some  bright, 
still  March  morning? 

-  The  field  or  vesper-sparrow,  called  also  grass-finch, 
and  bay-winged  sparrow,  a  bird  slightly  larger  than 
the  song-sparrow  and  of  a  lighter  gray  color,  is  abun- 
dant in  all  our  upland  fields  and  pastures,  and  is  a 
very  sweet  songster.  It  builds  upon  the  ground, 
without  the  slightest  cover  or  protection,  and  also 
roosts  there.  Walking  through  the  fields  at  dusk 
I  frequently  start  them  up  almost  beneath  my  feet. 
When  disturbed  by  day  they  fly  with  a  quick,  sharp 


THE   INVITATION.  239 

movement,  showing  two  white  quills  in  the  tail.  The 
traveler  along  the  country  roads  disturbs  them  earth- 
ing their  wings  in  the  soft  dry  earth,  or  sees  them 
skulking  and  flitting  along  the  fences  in  front  of  him. 
They  run  in  the  furrow  in  advance  of  the  team,  or 
perch  upon  the  stones  a  few  roads  off.  They  sing 
much  after  sundown,  hence  the  aptness  of  the  name 
vesper-sparrow,  which  a  recent  writer,  Wilson  Flagg, 
has  bestowed  upon  them. 

In  the  meadows  and  low  wet  lands  the  Savannah 
sparrow  is  met  with,  and  may  be  known  by  its  fine, 
insect-like  song.  In  the  swamp,  the  swamj>-sparrow. 

The  fox-sparrow,  the  largest  and  handsomest  spe- 
cies of  this  family,  comes  to  us  in  the  fall,  from  the 
North,  where  it  breeds.  Likewise  the  tree  or  Canada 
sparrow,  and  the  white-crowned  and  white-throated 
sparrows. 

The  social-sparrow,  nlias  "  hair-bird,"  alias  "  red- 
headed chipping-bird,"  is  the  smallest  of  the  sparrows, 
and,  I  believe,  the  only  one  that  builds  in  trees. 

The  finches,  as  a  class,  all  have  short  conical  bills, 
with  tails  more  or  less  forked.  The  purple  finch 
heads  the  list  in  varied  musical  ability. 

Beside  the  groups  of  our  more  familiar  birds  which 
I  have  thus  hastily  outlined,  there  are  numerous  other 
groups,  more  limited  in  specimens  but  comprising 
some  of  our  best  known  songsters.  The  bobolink, 
for  instance,  has  properly  no  congener.  The  famous 
mocking-bird  of  the  Southern  States  belongs  to  a 
genus  which  has  but  two  other  representatives  in  the 


240  THE   INVITATION. 

Atlantic  States,  namely,  the  cat-bird  and  the  long- 
tailed  or  ferruginous  thrush. 

The  wrens  are  a  large  and  interesting  family,  and 
as  songsters  are  noted  for  vivacity  and  volubility. 
The  more  common  species  are  the  house-wren,  the 
wood-wren,  the  marsh-wren,  the  great  Carolina  wren, 
and  the  winter-wren,  the  latter  perhaps  deriving  its 
name  from  the  fact  that  it  breeds  in  the  North.  It  is 
an  exquisite  songster,  and  pours  forth  its  notes  so 
rapidly  and  with  such  sylvan  sweetness  and  cadence, 
that  it  seems  to  go  o/f  like  a  musical  alarm. 

Wilson  called  the  kinglets  wrens,  but  they  have 
little  to  justify  the  name,  except  their  song,  which  is 
of  the  same  continuous,  gushing,  lyrical  character  as 
that  referred  to  above.  Dr.  Brewer  was  entranced 
with  the  song  of  one  of  these  tiny  minstrels  in  the 
woods  of  New  Brunswick,  and  thought  he  had  found 
the  author  of  the  strain  in  the  black-poll  warbler. 
He  seems  loath  to  believe  that  a  bird  so  small  as  either 
of  the  kinglets  could  possess  such  vocal  powers.  It 
may  indeed  have  been  the  winter-wren,  but  from  my 
own  observation  I  believe  the  golden-crowned  kinglet 
quite  capable  of  such  a  performance. 

But  I  must  leave  this  part  of  the  subject  and  hasten 
on.  As  to  works  on  ornithology,  Audubon's,  though 
its  expense  puts  it  beyond  the  reach  of  the  mass  of 
readers,  is,  by  far,  the  most  full  and  accurate.  His 
drawings  surpass  all  others  in  accuracy  and  spirit, 
while  his  enthusiasm  and  devotion  to  the  work  he  had 
undertaken,  have  but  few  parallels  in  the  history  of 


THE  INVITATION.  241 

science.  His  chapter  on  the  wild  goose  is  as  good  as 
a  poem.  One  readily  overlooks  his  style,  which  is 
often  verbose  and  affected,  in  consideration  of  enthu- 
siasm so  genuine  and  purpose  so  single. 

There  has  never  been  a  keener  eye  than  Audu- 
bon's,  though  there  have  been  more  discriminative 
ears.  Nuttall,  for  instance,  is  far  more  happy  in  his 
descriptions  of  the  songs  and  notes  of  birds,  and  more 
to  be  relied  upon.  Audubon  thinks  the  song  of  the 
Louisiana  water-thrush  equal  to  that  of  the  European 
nightingale,  and,  as  he  had  heard  both  birds,  one 
would  think  was  prepared  to  judge.  Yet  he  has,  no 
doubt,  overrated  the  one  and  underrated  the  other. 
The  song  of  the  water-thrush  is  very  brief,  compared 
with  the  philomel's,  and  its  quality  is  brightness  and 
vivacity,  while  that  of  the  latter  bird,  if  the  books 
are  to  be  credited,  is  melody  and  harmony.  Again, 
he  says  the  song  of  the  blue  grossbeak  resembles  the 
bobolink's,  which  it  does  about  as  much  as  the  color 
of  the  two  birds  resembles  each  other ;  one  is  black 
and  white  and  the  other  is  blue.  The  song  of  the 
wood-wagtail,  he  says,  consists  of  a  "  short  succes- 
sion of  simple  notes  beginning  with  emphasis  and 
gradually  falling."  The  truth  is  they  run  up  the 
scale  instead  of  down  ;  beginning  low  and  ending  in 
u  shriek 

Yet  considering  the  extent  of  Audubon's  work,  the 
wonder  is  the  errors  are  so  few.  I  can,  at  this  mo- 
ment, recall  but  one  observation  of  his,  the  contrary 
of  which  I  have  proved  to  be  true.  In  his  account 
16 


242  THE   INVITATION. 

of  the  bobolink  he  makes  a  point  of  the  fact  that  in 
returning  South  in  the  fall  they  do  not  travel  by  night 
as  they  do  when  moving  North  in  the  spring.  In 
Washington  I  have  heard  their  calls  as  they  flew  over 
at  night  for  four  successive  autumns.  As  he  devoted 
the  whole  of  a  long  life  to  the  subject,  and  figured 
and  described  over  four  hundred  species,  one  feels  a 
real  triumph  on  finding  in  our  common  woods  a  bird 
not  described  in  his  work.  I  have  seen  but  two. 
Walking  in  the  woods  one  day  in  early  fall,  in  the 
vicinity  of  West  Point,  I  started  up  a  thrush  that  was 
sitting  on  the  ground.  It  alighted  on  a  branch  a  few 
yards  off,  and  looked  new  to  me.  I  thought  I  had 
never  before  seen  so  long-legged  a  thrush.  I  shot  it, 
and  saw  that  it  was  a  new  acquaintance.  Its  pecul- 
iarities were  its  broad,  square  tail  ;  the  length  of  its 
legs,  which  were  three  and  three  quarters  inches  from 
the  end  of  the  middle  toe  to  the  hip-joint ;  and  the 
deep  uniform  olive-brown  of  the  upper  parts,  and  the 
gray  of  the  lower.  It  proved  to  be  the  gray-cheeked 
thrush  (Turdus  alicice),  named  and  first  described  by 
Professor  Baird.  But  little  seems  to  be  known  con- 
cerning it,  except  that  it  breeds  in  the  far  North,  even 
on  the  shores  of  the  Arctic  Ocean.  I  would  go  a 
good  way  to  hear  its  song. 

The  present  season  I  met  with  a  pair  of  them  near 
Washington,  as  mentioned  above.  In  size  this  bird 
approaches  the  wood-thrush,  being  larger  than  either 
the  hermit  or  the  veery  ;  unlike  all  other  species,  no 
part  of  its  plumage  has  a  tawny  or  yellowish  tinge. 


THE  INVITATION.  243 

The  other  specimen  was  the  Northern  or  small  water- 
thrush,  cousin-german  to  the  oven-bird  and  half- 
brother  to  the  Louisiana  water-thrush  or  wagtail.  I 
found  it  at  the  head  of  a  remote  mountain  lake  among 
the  sources  of  the  Delaware,  where  it  evidently  had 
a  nest.  It  usually  breeds  much  farther  North.  It 
has  a  strong,  clear  warble,  which  at  once  suggests 
the  song  of  its  congener.  I  have  not  been  able  to 
find  any  account  of  this  particular  species  in  the 
books,  though  it  seems  to  be  well  known. 

More  recent  writers  and  explorers  have  added  to 
Audubon's  list  over  three  hundred  new  species,  the 
greater  number  of  which  belong  to  the  Northern  and 
Western  parts  of  the  Continent.  Audubon's  obser- 
vations were  confined  mainly  to  the  Atlantic  and  Gulf 
States  and  the  adjacent  islands ;  hence  the  Western 
or  Pacific  birds  were  but  little  known  to  him,  and  are 
only  briefly  mentioned  in  his  works. 

It  is,  by  the  way,  a  little  remarkable  how  many  of 
the  Western  birds  seem  merely  duplicates  of  the  East- 
ern. Thus,  the  varied-thrush  of  the  West  is  our 
robin,  a  little  differently  marked  ;  and  the  red-shafted 
wood-pecker  is  our  golden-wing,  or  high-hole,  colored 
red  instead  of  yellow.  There  is  also  a  Western 
chickadee,  a  Western  chewink,  a  Western  blue  jay, 
a  Western  meadow-lark,  a  Western  snow-bird,  a 
Western  bluebird,  a  Western  song-sparrow,  Western 
grouse,  quail,  hen-hawk,  etc.,  etc. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  birds  of  the  West 
seems  to  be  a  species  of  skylark,  met  with  on  the 


244  THE  INVITATION. 

plains  of  Dakota,  which  mounts  to  the  height  of  three 
or  four  hundred  feet,  and  showers  down  its  ecstatic 
notes.  It  is  evidently  akin  to  several  of  our  Eastern 
species. 

A  correspondent,  writing  to  me  from  the  country 
one  September,  says,  "  I  have  observed  recently  a 
new  species  of  bird  here.  They  alight  upon  the 
buildings  and  fences  as  well  as  upon  the  ground. 
They  are  walkers."  In  a  few  days  he  obtained  one, 
and  sent  me  the  skin.  It  proved  to  be  what  I  had 
anticipated,  namely,  the  American  pipit,  or  titlark,  a 
slender  brown  bird,  about  the  size  of  the  sparrow, 
which  passes  through  the  States  in  the  fall  and  spring, 
to  and  from  its  breeding  haunts  in  the  far  North. 
They  generally  appear  by  twos  and  threes,  or  in 
small  loose  flocks,  searching  for  food  on  banks  arid 
plowed  ground.  As  they  fly  up,  they  show  two  or 
three  white  quills  in  the  tail  like  the  vesper-sparrow. 
Flying  over,  they  utter  a  single  chirp  or  cry  every 
few  rods.  They  breed  in  the  bleak,  moss-covered 
rocks  of  Labrador.  Their  eggs  have  also  been  found 
in  Vermont,  and  I  feel  quite  certain  that  I  saw  this 
bird  in  the  Adirondac  Mountains  in  the  month  of 
August.  The  male  launches  into  the  air,  and  gives 
forth  a  brief  but  melodious  song,  after  the  manner  of 
all  larks.  They  are  walkers.  This  is  a  characteristic 
of  but  few  of  our  land-birds.  By  far  the  greater 
number  are  hoppers.  Note  the  track  of  the  common 
snow-bird;  the  feet  are  not  placed  one  in  front  of  the 
other,  as  in  the  track  of  the  crow  or  partridge,  but 


THE   INVITATION.  245 

side  and  side.  The  sparrows,  thrushes,  warblers, 
woodpeckers,  buntings,  etc.,  are  all  hoppers.  On  the 
other  hand,  all  aquatic  or  semi-aquatic  birds  are 
walkers.  The  plovers  and  sandpipers  and  snipes 
run  rapidly.  Among  the  land-birds,  the  grouse,  pig- 
eons, quails,  larks,  and  various  blackbirds,  walk.  The 
swallows  walk,  also,  whenever  they  use  their  feet  at 
all,  but  very  awkwardly.  The  larks  walk  with  ease 
and  grace.  Note  the  meadow-lark  strutting  about  all 
day  in  the  meadows. 

Besides  being  walkers,  the  larks,  or  birds  allied  to 
the  larks,  all  sing  upon  the  wing,  usually  poised  or 
circling  in  the  air,  with  a  hovering,  tremulous  flight. 
The  meadow-lark  occasionally  does  this  in  the  early 
part  of  the  season.  At  such  times  its  long-drawn 
note  or  whistle  becomes  a  rich,  amorous  warble. 

The  bobolink,  also,  has  both  characteristics,  and, 
notwithstanding  the  difference  of  form  and  build,  etc., 
is  very  suggestive  of  the  English  skylark,  as  it  figures 
in  the  books,  and  is,  no  doubt,  fully  its  equal  as  a 
songster. 

Of  our  small  wood-birds  we  have  three  varieties, 
east  of  the  Mississippi,  closely  related  to  each  other, 
which  I  have  already  spoken  of,  and  which  walk,  and 
sing,  more  or  less,  on  the  wing,  namely,  the  two 
species  of  water-thrush  or  wagtails,  and  the  oven-bird 
or  wood-wagtail.  The  latter  is  the  most  common, 
and  few  observers  of  the  birds  can  have  failed  to 
notice  its  easy,  gliding  walk.  Its  other  lark  trait, 
namely,  singing  in  the  air,  seems  not  to  have  been  ob- 


246  THE   INVITATION. 

served  by  any  naturalist.  Yet,  it  is  a  well  estab- 
lished characteristic,  and  may  be  verified  by  any  per- 
son who  will  spend  a  half  hour  in  the  woods  where 
this  bird  abounds  on  some  June  afternoon  or  evening. 
I  hear  it  very  frequently  after  sundown,  when  the 
ecstatic  singer  can  hardly  be  distinguished  against  the 
sky.  I  know  of  a  high,  bald-top  mountain  where  I 
have  sat  late  in  the  afternoon  and  heard  them  as 
often  as  one  every  minute.  Sometimes  the  bird 
would  be  far  below  me,  sometimes  near  at  hand  ;  and 
very  frequently  the  singer  would  be  hovering  a  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  summit.  He  would  start  from 
the  trees  on  one  side  of  the  open  space,  reach  his 
climax  in  the  air,  and  plunge  down  on  the  other  side. 
Its  descent  after  the  song  is  finished  is  very  rapid, 
and  precisely  like  that  of  the  titlark  when  it  sweeps 
down  from  its  course  to  alight  on  the  ground. 

I  first  verified  this  observation  some  years  ago.  I 
had  long  been  familiar  with  the  song,  but  had  only 
strongly  suspected  the  author  of  it,  when,  as  I  was 
walking  in  the  woods  one  evening,  just  as  the  leaves 
were  putting  out,  I  saw  one  of  these  birds  but  a  few 
rods  from  me.  I  was  saying  to  myself,  half  audibly, 
"  Come,  now,  show  off,  if  it  is  you  ;  I  have  come  to 
the  woods  expressly  to  settle  this  point,"  when  it  be- 
gan to  ascend,  by  short  hops  and  flights,  through  the 
branches,  uttering  a  sharp,  preliminary  chirp.  I  fol- 
lowed it  with  my  eye ;  saw  it  mount  into  the  air  and 
circle  over  the  woods,  and  saw  it  sweep  down  again 
and  dive  through  the  trees,  almost  to  the  very  perch 
from  which  it  had  started. 


THE   INVITATION.  247 

As  the  paramount  question  in  the  life  of  a  bird  is 
the  question  of  food,  perhaps  the  most  serious  troubles 
our  feathered  neighbors  encounter  are  early  in  the 
spring,  after  the  supply  of  fat  with  which  nature 
stores  every  corner  and  by-place  of  the  system,  there- 
by anticipating  the  scarcity  of  food,  has  been  ex- 
hausted, and  the  sudden  and  severe  changes  in  the 
weather  which  occur  at  this  season  make  unusual  de- 
mands upon  their  vitality.  No  doubt  many  of  the 
earlier  birds  die  from  starvation  and  exposure  at  this 
season.  Among  a  troop  of  Canada  sparrows,  which 
I  came  upon  one  March  day,  all  of  them  evidently 
much  reduced,  one  was  so  feeble  that  I  caught  it  in 
my  hand. 

During  the  present  season,  a  very  severe  cold  spell, 
the  first  week  in  March,  drove  the  bluebirds  to  seek 
shelter  about  the  houses  and  outbuildings.  As  night 
approached,  and  the  winds  and  the  cold  increased,  they 
seemed  filled  with  apprehension  and  alarm,  and  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  city  came  about  the  windows  and 
doors,  crept  behind  the  blinds,  clung  to  the  gutters 
and  beneath  the  cornice,  flitted  from  porch  to  porch, 
and  from  house  to  house,  seeking  in  vain  for  some 
safe  retreat  from  the  cold.  The  street  pump,  which 
had  a  small  opening,  just  over  the  handle,  was  an  at- 
traction which  they  could  not  resist.  And  yet  they 
seemed  aware  of  the  insecurity  of  the  position ;  for, 
no  sooner  would  they  stow  themselves  away  into  the 
interior  of  the  pump,  to  the  number  of  six  or  eight, 
than  they  would  rush  out  again,  as  if  apprehensive  of 


248  THE   INVITATION. 

some  approaching  danger.  Time  after  time  the  cav- 
ity was  filled  and  refilled,  with  blue  and  brown  inter- 
mingled, and  as  often  emptied.  Presently  they  tar- 
ried longer  than  usual,  when  I  made  a  sudden  sally 
and  captured  three,  that  found  a  warmer  and  safer 
lodging  for  the  night  in  the  cellar. 

In  the  fall,  birds  and  fowls  of  all  kinds  become 
very  fat.  The  squirrels  and  mice  lay  by  a  supply  of 
food  in  their  dens  and  retreats,  but  the  birds,  to  a 
considerable  extent,  especially  our  winter  residents, 
carry  an  equivalent  in  their  own  systems,  in  the  form 
of  adipose  tissue.  I  killed  a  red-shouldered  hawk, 
one  December,  and  on  removing  the  skin  found  the 
body  completely  encased  in  a  coating  of  fat  one  quar- 
ter of  an  inch  in  thickness.  Not  a  particle  of  mus- 
cle was  visible.  This  coating  not  only  serves  as  a 
protection  against  the  cold,  but  supplies  the  waste  of 
the  system,  when  food  is  scarce,  or  fails  altogether. 

The  crows  at  this  season  are  in  the  same  condition. 
It  is  estimated  that  a  crow  needs  at  least  half  a  pound 
of  meat  per  day,  but  it  is  evident  that  for  weeks  and 
months  during  the  winter  and  spring,  they  must  sub- 
sist on  a  mere  fraction  of  this  amount.  I  have  no 
doubt  a  crow  or  hawk,  when  in  their  fall  condition, 
would  live  two  weeks  without  a  morsel  of  food  pass- 
ing their  beaks  ;  a  domestic  fowl  will  do  as  much. 
One  January,  I  unwittingly  shut  a  hen  under  the 
floor  of  an  out-building,  where  not  a  particle  of  food 
could  be  obtained,  and  where  she  was  entirely  unpro- 
tected from  the  severe  cold.  When  the  luckless 


THE   INVITATION.  249 

Dominick  was  discovered,  about  eighteen  days  after- 
ward, she  was  brisk  and  lively,  but  fearfully  pinched 
up,  and  as  light  as  a  bunch  of  feathers.  The  slight- 
est wind  carried  her  before  it  But  by  judicious 
feeding  she  was  soon  restored. 

The  circumstance  of  the  bluebirds  being  embold- 
ened by  the  cold,  suggests  the  fact  that  the  fear  of 
man,  which  now  seems  like  an  instinct  in  the  birds, 
is  evidently  an  acquired  trait,  and  foreign  to  them  in 
a  state  of  primitive  nature.  Every  gunner  has  ob- 
served, to  his  chagrin,  how  wild  the  pigeons  become 
after  a  few  days  of  firing  among  them ;  and,  to  his 
delight,  how  easy  it  is  to  approach  near  his  game  in 
new  or  unfrequented  woods.  Professor  Baird  teJls 
me  that  a  correspondent  of  theirs  visited  a  small 
island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  situated  about  two  hun- 
dred miles  off  Cape  St.  Lucas,  to  procure  specimens. 
The  island  was  but  a  few  miles  in  extent,  and  had 
probably  never  been  visited  half  a  dozen  times  by 
human  beings.  The  naturalist  found  the  birds  and 
water-fowls  so  tame  that  it  was  but  a  waste  of  am- 
munition to  shoot  them.  Fixing  a  noose  on  the  end 
of  a  long  stick,  he  captured  them  by  putting  it  over 
their  necks  and  hauling  them  to  him.  In  some  cases 
not  even  this  contrivance  was  needed.  A  species  of 
mocking-bird,  in  particular,  larger  than  ours,  and  a 
splendid  songster,  made  itself  so  familiar  as  to  be  al- 
most a  nuisance,  hopping  on  the  table  where  the  col- 
lector was  writing,  and  scattering  the  pens  and  paper. 
Eighteen  species  were  found,  twelve  of  them  peculiar 
to  the  island. 


250  THE   INVITATION. 

Thoreau  relates  that  in  the  woods  of  Maine  the 
Canada  jay  will  sometimes  make  its  meal  with  the 
lumbermen,  taking  the  food  out  of  their  hands. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  birds  have  come  to  look 
upon  man  as  their  natural  enemy,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  civilization  is  on  the  whole  favorable  to 
their  increase  and  perpetuity,  especially  to  the 
smaller  species.  With  man  come  flies  and  moths, 
and  insects  of  all  kinds  in  greater  abundance  ;  new 
plants  and  weeds  are  introduced,  and,  with  the  clear- 
ing up  of  the  country,  are  sowed  broadcast  over  the 
land. 

The  larks  and  snow-buntings  that  come  to  us  from 
the  North,  subsist  almost  entirely  upon  the  seeds  of 
grasses  and  plants ;  and  how  many  of  our  more  com- 
mon and  abundant  species  are  field-birds,  and  entire 
strangers  to  deep  forests  ? 

In  Europe  some  birds  have  become  almost  domes- 
ticated, like  the  house-sparrow,  and  in  our  own  coun- 
try the  cliff-swallow  seem  to  have  entirely  abandoned 
ledges  and  shelving  rocks,  as  a  place  to  nest,  for  the 
eaves  and  projections  of  farms  and  other  out-build- 
ings. 

After  one  has  made  the  acquaintance  of  most  of 
the  land-birds,  there  remain  the  sea-shore  and  its 
treasures.  How  little  one  knows  of  the  aquatic 
fowls,  even  after  reading  carefully  the  best  authori- 
ties, was  recently  forced  home  to  my  mind  by  the 
following  circumstance:  I  was  spending  a  vacation 
in  the  interior  of  New  York,  when  one  day  a 


THE   INVITATION.  251 

stranger  alighted  before  the  house,  and  with  a  cigar 
box  in  his  hand  approached  me  as  I  sat  in  the  door- 
way. I  was  about  to  say  that  he  would  waste  his 
time  in  recommending  his  cigars  to  me,  as  I  never 
smoked,  when  he  said  that,  hearing  1  knew  some- 
thing about  birds,  he  had  brought  me  one  which  had 
been  picked  up  a  few  hours  before  in  a  hay-field  near 
the  village,  and  which  was  a  stranger  to  all  who  had 
seen  it.  As  he  began  to  undo  the  box  I  expected  to 
see  some  of  our  own  rarer  birds,  perhaps  the  rose- 
breasted  grossbeak  or  Bohemian  chatterer.  Imagine, 
then,  how  I  was  taken  aback,  when  I  beheld  instead, 
a  swallow-shaped  bird,  quite  as  large  as  a  pigeon, 
with  forked  tail,  glossy-black  above,  and  snow-white 
beneath.  Its  parti-webbed  feet,  and  its  long  graceful 
wings,  at  a  glance  told  that  it  was  a  sea-bird ;  but  as 
to  its  name  or  habitat  I  must  defer  my  answer  till  I 
could  get  a  peep  into  Audubon,  or  some  large  collec- 
tion. 

The  bird  had  fallen  down  exhausted  in  a  meadow, 
and  was  picked  up  just  as  the  life  was  leaving  its 
body.  The  place  must  have  been  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  from  the  sea,  as  the  bird  flies.  As  it  was 
the  sooty-tern,  which  inhabits  the  Florida  Keys,  its 
appearance  so  far  north  and  so  far  inland  may  be 
considered  somewhat  remarkable.  On  removing  the 
skin  I  found  it  terribly  emaciated.  It  had  no  doubt 
starved  to  death,  ruined  by  too  much  wing.  Another 
Icarus.  Its  great  power  of  flight  had  made  it  bold 
and  venturesome,  and  had  carried  it  so  far  out  of  its 
range  that  it  starved  before  it  could  return. 


252 


THE  INVITATION. 


The  sooty-tern  is  sometimes  called  the  sea-swallow, 
on  account  of  its  form  and  power  of  flight.  It  will 
fly  nearly  all  day  at  sea,  picking  up  food  from  the 
surface  of  the  water.  There  are  several  species, 
some  of  them  strikingly  beautiful. 


INDEX. 


Audubon 231,241 

Birds,  as  to  nesting,  classified 143 

songs  of  various      ....       17,  18,  52,  53,  67 

distribution  of,  in  a  locality        ....          29 

geographically       ....      50 

instinct  of  cleanliness  in  .        .        .        .        116 

propagation  in 119 

relations  of  the  sexes  of 118 

Blackbird,  Crow 157 

Bluebird 12,  13,  211-224 

Bobolink 163 

Bunting,  Black-throated 164 

Cow 18,  70 

Buzzard,  Turkey 152 

Cat-bird 36 

Cedar  bird 100,111,160 

Chat,  Yellow-breasted 172 

Chickadee 122 

Creeper,  Black  and  White 80 

Crow     .  152 

Cuckoo,  Black-billed 23,24 

Yellow-billed 23 

Dakota  Skylark 243,244 


254  INDEX. 

PACIB 

Eagles,  The 141 

Finch,  Pine 86,  100 

Purple 69,  86 

Finches,  The  238 

Fly-catchers,  The 236 

Gnat-catcher 134 

Goldfinch,  American 112 

Blue 129 

Cardinal 174 

Grossbcak,  Rose-breasted 67 

Grouse,  Canada 107,  206 

Hawk,  Hen       ....  ....      43 

Pigeon       ........  42 

Eed-tailed 132 

Heron,  Great  Blue 90 

Humming-bird  .'.....        67,  101,  133 

Indigo-bird 126 

Jay,  Canada 250 

Kingbird 62 

Kinglets,  The 240 

Lark,  Shore 155 

Larks,  The 244 

Oriole,  Baltimore 126,  135 

Orchard 162 

Owl,  Screech 63 


INDEX.  255 

PAO« 

Partridge 75 

Pewees,  The 62,  140 

Phoebe-bird 16,  63,  139 

Rcdbird 174 

Ro^in 14,  126 

Skylark,  Dakota 24.1,  244 

Snow-bird 55,  86,  127 

Sparrow,  Canada 157 

Chipping 18,  41,  124 

Field 24,  238 

Fox 163 

White-throated 86 

Wood,  or  Buah 26,126 

Sparrows,  The 238 

Swallows,  The 117,124,161 

Tanager,  Scarlet 68 

Tern,  Sooty 250 

Thrush,  Golden-crowned 64 

Gray-cheeked 242 

Hermit 33,  57,  59,  100 

Louisiana  Water 171 

New  York  Water 203,  243 

Wilson's 35,  56,  161 

Wood 31,34,57,187,190 

Thrushes,  The 237 

Titlark,  American 244 

Vireo,  Red-eyed   .        .        .-        .        .        .  54,  132,  235 

Solitary 130 

Warbling 80 

White-eyed 28,  234 


256  INDEX. 


Vireos,  The     
Veery            

PAOB 

.     234 
.      35   56   161 

Wren,  Winter          

.     12,  28,  55 

Wrens,  The           

240 

Wagtails,  The           

.     24!S 

Warbler,  Audubon's.             .... 

87 

Blackburnian   

.       58 

Black-throated  Blue-back      . 

79 

Black-throated  Green-back 

.       79 

Blue  Gray  (or  Gnat-catcher) 

134,  171 

Blue,  Yellow-back 

58 

Chestnut-sided 

78 

Kentucky 

170 

Speckled  Canada      .... 

.   70,  73,  87 

Varied  Creeping 

.   80,  130 

Warblers,  The 

171    232 

Woodpecker,  Downy            .... 

.    19,  115 

Golden-winged  .... 

17,20 

Red-headed     .... 

113,174 

Yellow-bellied 115,204 


